


Warm My Spark

by Kookaburra



Category: Transformers, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bad Sex, First Time, Fluff, Gangbang, M/M, Medical, Multi, Phone Sex, Public Sex, Roleplay, Sticky, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-04-27
Updated: 2010-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:58:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 57,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookaburra/pseuds/Kookaburra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/tfanonkink/603.html?thread=248411#t248411">Transformers Anonymous Kink Meme</a>. Mirage is the only Autobot on Earth with a valve and ends up being a comfort mech for the entire <i>Ark</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doctor, Doctor (Mirage/Ratchet; Medical Fetish)

**Author's Note:**

> Excerpt from the original prompt:  
> 
>
>> For most Cybertronians, the standard 'equipment' is a valve for femmes and a spike/cord for mechs. In the Towers however... well there were a lot of things money could buy and no one saw any problem altering themselves to 'double their pleasure' so to speak. So most Towers residents had both sets of equipment.
>> 
>> Needless to say... Mirage is very popular on the Ark, being the only bot there with a valve. To the point that now he's kinda the Autobot's whore. Of course he's a well cared for whore. He gets weekly check ups from Ratchet to make sure he's healthy, and is even spoiled by his friends for being such a good sport about servicing all of them on a regular basis.
>> 
>> And of course he still has rights, the 'no means no' rule still applies and if he's too hurt to interface, no one is allowed to interface him. He can end his prostitution tenure at any time as well, for any reason. Many live in fear of the day Mirage might get tired of the attention or falls in love and dedicates himself to a single mech.
>> 
>> He's so sought after, everyone's even assigned turns for when they can have him. These turns are even sometimes used as bartering items or the winnings of bets.
>> 
>> Mirage enjoys all of this though. He cares for his friends, he likes interface, and he loves the attention and being treated so well. And he gets to experience so many different kinds of interface. His tender lovers like Prime and Hound, his sweet lovers like Bumblebee and Bluestreak, his wild lovers like the Twins, his kinky lovers like Prowl and Jazz, and whatever else. Yep, he's got it made ;)

Mirage stared at the repair bay ceiling. He made a mental note to suggest (anonymously, of course) that Ratchet paint something interesting on the tiles. His suggestion probably wouldn't be taken, but Ratchet's annoyance at the sheer cheek of such a thing would be good for a bit of amusement. Ratchet was working busily down at the foot of the berth Mirage was on, the chevron on his helm framed by Mirage's spread thighs.

Mirage let out a little squeak of discomfort at a sudden sharp movement in his valve. Ratchet looked up and met his optics.

"Sorry about that Mirage. I'm almost done," said Ratchet, resuming his work between Mirage's legs.

"It didn't hurt – just surprised me," Mirage answered, leaning back once again. He shifted uncomfortably as one of Ratchet's digits poked into his valve.

"You'll feel some pressure, Mirage."

Mirage nodded and gripped the bar on the side of the berth a bit tighter. His leg struts were becoming rather uncomfortable in the stirrups that suspended them.

The pressure Ratchet exerted to snap the retooled component into place was relieved just as it reached the level of true pain. The next touch was much gentler, as Ratchet smoothed a section of interior plating into place. In fact, it was almost-

...A caress? Mirage lifted his head again to look down at Ratchet, but other than lifting his optics to meet Mirage's for a brief moment, Ratchet showed no reaction.

Ratchet continued to work in silence, occasionally shifting the scope he was using to examine the walls of Mirage's valve for signs of wear. Mirage let his mind wander, thoroughly bored with the whole thing, until one of Ratchet's digits brushed over his anterior external sensor node.

There was no way _that_ was accidental. Mirage tried to sit up, but could only prop up his torso on his elbows. The movement jarred the speculum holding his valve open and Ratchet looked up sharply.

"Mirage, you need to relax. If you don't, this will take much longer. Do I have to tie you down?" Ratchet's tone was stern.

"N-no, Ratchet," Mirage said meekly. Even if Ratchet was being highly inappropriate, Mirage was hardly in a position to protest. Mirage kept quiet, trying not to twitch every time Ratchet's tools or fingers brushed against sensor terminals.

Then a sharp _click-click-click_ sound came from the foot of the berth. Mirage let out an involuntary whimper as the speculum was spread even wider.

"There's nothing for it, Mirage," groused Ratchet. "I have to clamp the components in place and let the epoxy cure. If you'd listened to me in the first place you wouldn't have to go through this every-"

"I know, I know, Ratchet," sighed Mirage. "It's just -_mmmph_\- so undignified -_eep_!" Mirage's voice cut off with a squeak as the first clamp was placed.

"I don't imagine how you came to be in this condition was very _dignified_," Ratchet shot back, placing the second clamp – this one directly over a sensor node. He chuckled as Mirage gasped and arched his back. "Stay put." Ratchet slapped Mirage's hip plate in admonishment when Mirage twitched again.

"Easy- nghh- for you to say!" But Mirage controlled himself, and quieted enough for Ratchet to place the third and final clamp.

"Now, I have some reports to finish – you be quiet and I'll check on you in a joor." Ratchet wiped his hands and began putting away his tools. Mirage's mouth quirked up in annoyance when he noticed that Ratchet had recently moved his desk – it was now directly in line with the repair berth Mirage occupied, so Ratchet was sure to get an optic-full every time he looked up.

Cycling his vents, Mirage reclined again, determined to just wait it out. Besides, what did he care about the incorrigible pervert? Lacing his fingers behind his helm, Mirage shut off his optics, trying to ignore the little breezes and drafts that were stimulating his exposed valve. The constant pressure from the clamp over the sensor node made this difficult. Eventually Mirage's lost the struggle and a fan switched on deep in his chassis.

The noise sounded loud and intrusive in the quiet of the repair bay. Ratchet looked up over the top of the datapad he was reading and smirked at Mirage. Mirage just stared up at the ceiling and ignored him, determined to not give the medic the satisfaction. After a few kliks he mastered himself and managed to stop the fan.

At least Mirage could thank Primus for small blessings. The Ark repair bay lacked any sort of privacy screens, but most of the Autobots were out on patrol now, so it was unlikely that they would be disturbed...

The door hissed open.

...Or not.

"Ratchet?" Optimus Prime said cautiously. "Am I disturbing anything?"

"Come in, Prime – I'm just going over some records," called Ratchet from his desk.

"Good Morning, Prime," Mirage said in sing-song, knowing that if he didn't, Optimus Prime would simply ignore him out of a misplaced sense of politeness.

"Mirage," Optimus nodded in his direction. To his credit, he looked Mirage directly in the optics, despite what was on display immediately below.

_Ohh, he's going to get a reward for that._

Mirage listened with half an audio to Ratchet and Prime's conversation. It seemed to drone on forever, and he'd drifted into power-save mode when Ratchet left to go find something in his back office. His optics snapped on when he heard a vocoder cycle next to his berth.

Optimus Prime was standing next to him, staring down at him.

"Yes?" asked Mirage innocently. Mirage knew very well what Prime was going to say, but he was in a pique and felt like dragging it out.

"Ah, Mirage," Prime cleared his vocoder again. "You seem to have been in the repair bay… more _often_ recently. You know you can come to me if anyone…" Mirage just kept staring up at Prime, waiting for him to continue. "…Takes advantage? You are a valuable member of my crew, and I won't have-"

Mirage couldn't take it anymore, (though Prime was almost _adorable_ when he was flustered) and gave a small laugh, reaching out touch Prime's forearm reassuringly. "Oh, trust me, Prime. Nobody is taking advantage. If you must know what landed me in here was all _my_ idea, and-" Mirage cut off as a large hand was placed ever-so-gently but firmly on his thigh. "And I am just dealing with the natural consequences of slightly too much enthusiasm," he finished, hoping Prime didn't pick up the strain in his voice. The touch was maddening, inflaming his already over-stimulated sensor array. Little frissons of sensation traveled through Mirage's valve, and the node that was under the clamp was _throbbing_.

"I'm glad to hear that," Prime replied, leaning closer. Mirage's fans kicked on again.

_Slag him. He's doing it on purpose._

"Are you alright, Mirage?" Now it was Prime's turn to act innocent. "Do you need me to get Ratchet?"

"No," Mirage said through gritted denta. Prime's hand slid further up his thigh, tracing a seam. He was leaning closer over Mirage, and his optics were dimming to a deep blue that Mirage knew well. He was getting closer to the external node – so _close_ \- Mirage could feel the warm air from Prime's vents wafting over his plating. He arched his back, and groaned in encouragement. Just a little farther, and Prime would be _touching_ it and Mirage could overload and –

"PRIME!"

Ratchet's shout startled both of them. Prime snatched his hand back, looking for all of Cybertron like a guilty cadet caught by a superior officer.

"Slaggit, I just fixed that, it hasn't set yet!" fumed Ratchet, stalking towards them. "Keep your hands to yourself; he'll be in here four times as long if you got your digits bonded to his valve! Have some patience, for Primus' sake." Ratchet shoved the datapad at Prime's chest. "Here's the information you wanted. Now scoot!" Mirage hid a smile behind one hand as he wiggled his fingers in an impudent wave with the other while Ratchet gave Prime the bum's rush out of the repair bay. But then Mirage sobered. Now what was he going to do? He supposed he could always just take care of it himself, which was a vexing idea (really, it was ridiculous that a mech whose company was so sought after would be brought to this) but Ratchet seemed to be determined to bring Mirage low.

With an eager grunt, Mirage reached carefully between his legs, feeling the various clamps and probes that were still in place. He memorized their locations, so that he wouldn't accidentally bump one. Then slowly, cautiously, he touched the sensor node anterior to his valve. Mirage hissed in pleasure as the fire in his pelvic unit was stoked by the stimulation. It wouldn't take long; just a quick overload and then he could relax…

"Slaggit, not you too!" Mirage jerked his hand away as Ratchet hurried towards him.

"Oh, Ratchet, _please_ just a quick one-" Mirage hated to beg, but he was becoming downright _desperate_.

"No – I'm not resetting that plating again today, it's much too tedious!" Ratchet grabbed Mirage's wrist and with a practiced movement, fastened it to a restraint above Mirage's head.

"Ratchet!" Mirage wailed. This was absurd! When he wanted an overload he _got_ one. That was how the universe worked, and _Ratchet_ wasn't letting it happen!

"No arguments, Mirage. If you'd stayed still, and left well enough alone, this could be done by now." Ratchet's voice was gruff as he grabbed Mirage's other wrist and secured it beside the first.

"But _Ratchet_," Mirage moaned, writhing shamelessly. "I _need_ to!" He tried to move his pelvic unit – the clamps and devices in his valve moved minutely when he did, maybe that stimulation could-

"No you don't!" There was a burst of activity while Ratchet strapped down Mirage's hips and immobilized his legs. "And don't try that pout on me, you little tart."

Mirage immediately sucked in his lower lip component, which had been poking out just a _little_ but it wasn't fair to call it a _pout_. Ratchet could be so unreasonable.

Stepping back to examine his handiwork and giving a satisfied little nod, Ratchet went back to his desk and picked up a datapad. Mirage wanted to scream. Instead he kept working at finding a direction in which he could move that might help alleviate his predicament, but he was completely immobilized. He cycled his vents with perhaps a bit more force than was necessary and let his helm fall back with a thump.

_Back to studying the ceiling panels._

Ratchet ignored him, which was almost more maddening than being trussed up like this. Mirage was not accustomed to being ignored.

True to his word, exactly one joor later Ratchet put down the datapad and approached Mirage. "How are you doing, Mirage?" he said conversationally.

"How do you _think_ I'm doing, Ratchet?" Mirage said through gritted denta. This was _torture_, there had to be a rule or regulation against letting someone be denied release like this!

"I'll just check to see that the epoxy has cured, and then I'll turn your lubricant system back on and retighten your valve. After that you can go." Ratchet seated himself at the foot of the berth, and selected a long scope and probe from the berth-side tray. He inserted them quickly, and Mirage gasped as he felt both moving inside of him. The scope followed the probe, and his vocoder emitted a low keen as the probe tapped along the walls of his valve, testing the fixative. Then Ratchet withdrew the probe, and said cheerfully, "You're all set, Mirage, just a few more steps and you're free to go."

Mirage just nodded tightly, barely controlling himself as the clamps were removed. As each one was unfastened, a tingling sensation built in his valve as crimped energon lines and wires were released. Mirage sighed in relief when the speculum was retracted and removed. Ratchet opened a panel on Mirage's hip and hit a few buttons, and a pop up in Mirage's HUD informed him that his lubricant system had been reactivated.

"How long until I can interface again?" asked Mirage.

"Oh, you'll have to wait until your valve is re-lubricated," said Ratchet blithely. "Of course, if you'd prefer, I can manually stimulate it to release so that you don't have to wait…?" Ratchet looked deep into Mirage's optics, an unvoiced question hanging between them.

"Yes… I would prefer that, please, Ratchet." Mirage's voice was husky, and laced with static.

"As you wish." Ratchet opened a unit of repair-grade lubricant and smeared it over his first two fingers. "This might be a little cold at first." Mirage just nodded. He gasped and tensed when the first sure, but chilly, touch came. Ratchet reached up with his other hand and stroked Mirage's thigh reassuringly. The two digits pushed deep into his valve, until the heel of Ratchet's palm was pressed up against the outer rim.

Mirage moaned, tossing his head from side to side at the wonderful feeling of being filled. Ratchet began stroking along the thin silicone that covered the deeper part of Mirage's valve, working lubricant through the lines beneath. When he finally managed to hit the main storage bladder and express a squirt of Mirage's own lubricant, Mirage shrieked at the surge of pleasure the act sent through his systems.

"I hope I'm not hurting you, Mirage." Mirage didn't have to look at Ratchet to know that he was leering.

"You know very well you're not hurting me, now get _on_ with it!"

"Mmm, what did I tell you about patience?"

"That was Prime!"

"Oh, well, remind me to have that talk with _you_ someday, too." Ratchet withdrew his fingers, wiped them off, and picked up a chuck key. He inserted it into a tiny notch on the rim of Mirage's valve, and slowly rotated it. Mirage tensed while Ratchet worked, but stayed still. It didn't…_hurt_ exactly, but it certainly wasn't comfortable. "I'm sorry, Mirage," Ratchet said sincerely, patting Mirage's hip plate.

"Can't be helped," Mirage said shortly as Ratchet gave the key another quarter-turn.

"How tight would you like it this time? Did the aperture setting I used last time work for you?" Ratchet asked, cranking the chucks around Mirage's valve a notch tighter.

"It worked, but I would like it a bit tighter this time, please."

"How's that?" Ratchet asked after another half-turn.

"Hmm," Mirage considered. "I can't really tell, you know, without something _in_ it." He let his head fall to the side and looked down at Ratchet. "I don't suppose you could… test it out?" he said coyly.

"Anything for a patient." Mirage was gratified to hear a hint of static creep into Ratchet's voice. Sometimes it seemed like the medic had struts of _ice_, and it was always nice to know that he wasn't losing his touch.

"You're so good to me, Ratchet," Mirage cooed as Ratchet stood up, extended his spike, and positioned himself at Mirage's entrance. "I know it must be _such_ a bother for you t-_ooooooh_!" Mirage's voice was choked off in a cry as Ratchet thrust home in one smooth motion.

"You -_uh_\- were saying, Mirage?"

"Shut up and frag me!"

"Tut, tut, such… _oh_ language," Ratchet scolded as he held himself still, trembling with arousal. "If someone heard you, they might think you were common stock," Ratchet pulled out and pushed back in smoothly, while Mirage writhed and jerked to and fro in the restraints. "Not a properly brought-up Towers mech."

Mirage released a stream of colorful invective that made Ratchet throw back his helm and laughed.

"I don't think that's physically possible, Mirage. And I should know, I _am_ a doctor," said Ratchet when his mirth had died down. "And as…pleasurable as this is, I do need to know if I have it on the correct setting."

Mirage calmed himself a bit, and concentrated on the feel of the spike inside of his valve. "Move out just a bit," he said. Ratchet complied. "Now in…it could be just a notch or two tighter."

"Are you sure?" Ratchet asked. "That's a smaller setting than you've ever had before."

"I'm sure." Mirage smiled down at Ratchet. "Wait," he said as Ratchet made to withdraw.

"Y-yes, Mirage?" Mirage could feel Ratchet's hands tightening compulsively on his thigh-plating as the medic paused.

"Maybe… maybe even tighter…" Mirage whispered.

"M-Mirage, _no one_ would be able to fit in then-" Ratchet protested.

"What if… what if they were already in?" Mirage gave Ratchet a significant look.

"Already…Mirage!"

"That's what you want, isn't it, Ratchet?" said Mirage softly. "That's what you like… and I like being tight _for_ you, so what's the problem?"

"I-I could hurt you." Ratchet was worried, but sounded halfway-convinced already.

"_Please_, Ratchet," Mirage moaned, shutting off his optics and giving a staticky moan. He could feel Ratchet trembling inside of him, the medic's self control was stretched to the limit, and Mirage was intent on snapping it. "You won't hurt me, you're always _so_ good to me, you're good to all of us. Please, let _me_ be good to _you_."

"Oh, _Mirage_," Ratchet said shakily. He turned his head and grabbed one of Mirage's leg struts, which was hanging, suspended next to Ratchet's helm. Ratchet nuzzled Mirage's ankle joint, tracing the racing logos that adorned it with one finger. "All right." Mirage managed to resist the temptation to give a little coo of victory. "But you _must_ tell me if this is painful, and we'll stop right away."

Mirage nodded eagerly, and couldn't keep from grinning as Ratchet fumbled with the chuck key. He could feel it being inserted into the seating and then turned. Mirage bit his lip plating and flicked off his optics. The sensation of his valve slowly closing around Ratchet's spike was _incredible_, better than he had ever imagined.

Ratchet shouted, leaning over and bracing his hands on the berth on either side of Mirage's hips. "Mirage, _Mirage_, this is amazing, you're amazing, you're _wonderful_-" he babbled, overcome by the sensation.

"Mmm- Ratchet, please, _tighter_," Mirage whispered.

"_Yes._"

There were two more clicks as the chuck key was turned a bit more. Both Ratchet and Mirage cried out at the same time- the ridges on Ratchet's spike had become fully seated in the grooves in Mirage's valve in a way that was normally impossible. Ratchet struggled to stay upright – the powerful sensations made him feel like the hydraulics in his leg struts were de-pressurized. His spike was immovable within the valve, and as he gave a small push Mirage's entire body was shifted on the berth.

"Oh, Ratchet, Ratchet, _Ratchet_!" Mirage cried out at each small movement. He was so lost in ecstasy that he didn't even notice his posterior plating scraping over the surface of the berth.

"M-Mirage, _Mirage!_" Ratchet gave a particularly hard push and Mirage tumbled over the edge of his overload, screaming in bliss as his systems maxed out and shut down. Ratchet followed a moment later, his transfluid spilling into Mirage. He slumped over Mirage, insensate, as his systems forced him to reboot.

Mirage recovered quickly, all but purring in satisfaction at the warmth that always suffused his circuits after an overload. He noticed that he had accidentally snapped one of the restraints around his wrists, and quickly reached over to undo the other one. Then he let both hands fall onto the helm that was resting on his abdominal plating. Mirage slowly traced the seams and chevron of Ratchet's helm, relishing the feeling of Ratchet's spike still filling him.

As he waited for Ratchet to come back online, Mirage pulled up his schedule and looked at his pending appointment requests. The program was a handy one that Prowl had devised – it was stored on a public portion of Teletraan-1's server, and while Mirage ultimately had control over it, other mechs could add their names in time slots that did not already have appointments or that Mirage had not blacked out. But before they would appear on his public schedule, Mirage had to approve the requests. It was a good system.

He hummed a mindless little tune as he looked through the requests, approving one, suggesting a change in time in another, and... _oh_. Mirage smiled as he looked at the latest request in his in-box. It wasn't exactly a surprise, but, the timing was unusual. After accepting the request, Mirage blacked out several joors immediately after the appointment. He had a feeling this one would take some time.

"Mmmrrgh." Ratchet shifted, finally rebooting. An unsteady hand worked its way up Mirage's side, to grip his fingers.

"Rise and shine," Mirage teased, giving Ratchet's hand a squeeze.

"You broke my mag cuffs again, didn't you," said Ratchet as he lifted his head and looked blearily up at Mirage, who smiled down at him.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for asking."

"Sorry," Ratchet mumbled, as he lifted his torso. Mirage cried out as Ratchet tried to take a step back, forgetting about his spike still trapped in Mirage's valve. "Sorry! I'm sorry!" Ratchet grabbed for the chuck key, and Mirage experienced a spark freezing moment of fear when it almost slipped through Ratchet's fingers. If the blasted thing fell where Ratchet couldn't reach it-

But Ratchet kept hold of it, and quickly released the tension on Mirage's valve to where he could withdraw. Then he took a small pin and gently inserted it into a hole on the chucks, securing them at that setting.

"Are you going let me down, now?" Mirage asked with a hint of impatience in his voice. His leg struts really _were_ getting stiff.

"Just a klik." Ratchet reached out and grabbed a handful of pre-treated disposable cleaning pads, and quickly rubbed down Mirage's panel, aft, and made a few quick swipes inside of his valve to remove the excess lubricant and Ratchet's own transfluid. When he was satisfied with the results, he nodded up at Mirage. "Alright, you can close it up. All clean."

"Thank you, Ratchet." Mirage's panel cover slid shut. Ratchet quickly undid the metal mesh straps that had held him to the berth, then released his pedes from the stirrups. Mirage hissed as fluid flowed through previously dry lines as they were un-crimped. Ratchet helped him sit up, and supported him carefully as Mirage stood on unsteady legs.

"Are you alright?" asked Ratchet as he walked Mirage around in a little circle.

"Oh, I'm fine, just a little-" Mirage didn't get to finish the thought as the alarm klaxon blared to life.

"Attention," Prowl's voice sounded from the intercom. "All Autobots fit for battle report to the main entrance. Decepticons approaching." Mirage and Ratchet looked at each other and then separated- Mirage going to the corner where he had left his electro disruptor and rocket launcher, and Ratchet to the storage closet for his battlefield jump kit. Ratchet wordlessly helped Mirage shoulder the rocket launcher, and Mirage gave him a tight smile as he flipped the catches that were hard for Mirage to reach.

Grabbing their rifles, the pair ran out of the repair bay and headed to the main entrance, ready to fight.


	2. 867-5309 (Mirage/Tracks; Phone Sex)

"I never get used to it."

Mirage looked over at Trailbreaker. Both of them were covered in mud and grit from the battlefield. They had just finished packaging the last wounded Autobot for transport back to the _Ark_, and were now waiting for the rest of the Autobots involved in the battle to gather so they could travel back in formation.

"What do you mean, Trailbreaker?" Mirage asked.

"Seeing them- seeing my friends hurt. I know Ratchet is going to take care of them, but I worry that some day he won't be able to."

Mirage patted Trailbreaker's arm. "I know. It's something we all worry about. But we can't let the worry stop us. I know that it makes me even more determined to stop Megatron and the Decepticons."

"You're right, Mirage." Trailbreaker looked over at the churned up, muddy field where the fight had taken place and sighed. "But it doesn't make it any easier."

"No, it doesn't," agreed Mirage.

As they transformed and drove back to the base, Mirage checked his chronometer. His spark sank. Hound had an appointment, but the battle had taken up all of the time Mirage had reserved for it.

In addition to being an amazing lover, Hound was Mirage's closest friend, and Mirage always looked forward to their appointments. He wished they could have more of them – but Hound tended to save up his chits and then book a whole shift, or even an entire day.

At the entrance to the Ark, Mirage caught up with Hound, sending him a hailing ping. Hound turned and smiled at him, and Mirage's spark fluttered a bit.

_Oh, stop it. You're acting like a new-sparked 'Bot with his first crush!_ Mirage chided himself.

"Hi, Mirage," Hound greeted him warmly. "Look, about the appointment-"

"Don't worry about it Hound." Mirage smiled at his friend and pulled him into an embrace. "Rescheduling you is my first priority."

"Thanks, Mirage." Mirage could feel Hound smile as he nuzzled his neck cables.

Mirage frowned when Hound only returned his hug with one arm. He drew back a bit, and noticed some scorch marks on Hound's shoulder. "Hound, what happened? Are you hurt?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm fine, Mirage." Hound reached up with his good arm and stroked Mirage's cheek with the back of his fingers. "Starscream winged me with a null-ray. It wasn't a direct hit, but my circuits are still fried."

"You need to have Ratchet look at that!" Mirage ran his hands over Hound's injured arm, searching for anything else that needed repairs.

"I will, but I have a feeling I'm going to be stuck in the waiting room for awhile."

"Well, make sure it gets fixed as soon as you can – I'll check to make sure you do!" Mirage said. He pressed close against Hound again, reaching up to fondle Hound's winch and cable, and whispered in Hound's audio, "It wouldn't do to have you in anything other than _top_ condition for an appointment after all, Hound."

"Easy there," Hound said as he gently pushed Mirage away. "If you're not careful, I may just use up a chit right here."

"Mmm, could be fun," Mirage teased, tapping him on the nose before slipping out of Hound's hold and moving away. Hound held onto Mirage's hand for as long as he could, until they were only holding on by their fingertips.

"I'll put in a couple of requests," Hound called as Mirage let go. "Approve the one that works best for you."

"I will!" Mirage said over his shoulder before they were completely separated by the crowd of mechs milling in the entrance of the Ark. _Mmm, if only Hound _would_ use one of his chits right in the entrance way..._ Mirage smiled at the thought as he headed towards the wash-rack located closest to his quarters. Hound was sweet and romantic, and Mirage loved the way Hound would practically _worship_ his body for joors during their appointments, but sometimes Mirage just wanted Hound to take him hard and fast, to express his affection aggressively in front of the other Autobots.

Mirage was certainly not shy about being interfaced in front of an audience, and he loved the looks of pure lust and desire that were always directed at him by the voyeurs public interfacing always attracted. In the Towers, his desire to be pursued, and noticed, and _coveted_ were considered unseemly.

Mirage made his way through the crowds, only pausing to give Skids a swat on the helm for making a grab at his aft, and found his cubby for his washing things. He shouldered aside the other mechs, and shared in the banter and jibes that were always traded after a particularly rousing altercation with the Decepticons. While some might see the high-spirits as being disrespectful to the mechs that were injured, Mirage knew it was just a way to release pent up emotions that had to be suppressed during a fight.

"Hey Sideswipe, next time why don't you try giving Skywarp some flowers before jumping on his back? Then maybe he won't slag you up so much!"

"Shut it, Cliffjumper, what the Pit were you doing up on that rock? Looking for shapes in the clouds?"

"Hey, some of us can actually _aim_, and don't have to resort to flinging ourselves like lovesick turbopuppies at Decepticons-"

"I think he just called you a dog, Sunstreaker!"

Mirage ducked his head, knowing that making any optic-contact with the squabbling mechs would be seen as an invitation to be pulled into the teasing. As much as he normally enjoyed trading verbal barbs, he needed to reserve his energy for the night's appointment.

When Mirage pulled out his drawer, he was surprised to see a new unit of human shampoo, a chamois, and a container of carnauba wax all bound together with a ribbon. Other Autobots were always giving him gifts and trinkets, but usually they were trying to butter him up before requesting a particularly unusual (or athletic) activity during an appointment.

"Do you like it?" a voice purred in his audio as two strong arms wrapped around his chassis from behind.

"Mmm, yes, Tracks, I do." Mirage turned and draped his arms over Tracks' shoulders. "Thank you. But what on Cybertron is the shampoo for? And where did you _get_ a bottle so large?"

"I spoke with the president of the local classic car club," Tracks said. "I know the streaks from the hard water annoy you, and he said that a pH neutral shampoo was the only way to wash a chassis as _exquisite_ at yours. And where I got the large bottle is my secret." Tracks ran a finger over Mirage's shoulder wheel, tracing the rims. "Would you like to try it out? I could help-"

A rag hit Tracks square in the face.

"Make an appointment like the rest of us, you slagger!" Smokescreen called, turning everyone's attention to the scene in the corner.

Mirage grabbed the rag and threw it back in Smokescreen's direction. "Like you haven't done the same, Mister 'oh you have something in your optic let me get it'!" Mirage shot back. There were whoops and laughter from the others.

Tracks very deliberately turned towards Mirage, and said archly, "I don't think the current company is quite worthy of you, Mirage. After we're done here, would you like to retire to _my_ quarters for a little... diversion?"

"That's very tempting, Tracks, but I have a previous engagement," Mirage said, leaning close and trailing a finger tip down Tracks' nasal ridge plating. Tracks groaned and squeezed Mirage close to himself, grinding their pelvic units together, and nipped at Mirage's fingers when they brushed his lip-plating.

"Ah, ah, ah! You know the rules, Tracks." Mirage tutted, though he was smiling and his optics shone with amusement. "Are you really going to use up one of your chits here?" Mirage would not have minded, but he knew that Tracks preferred to interface where he could have Mirage all to himself. Besides, something seemed to be bothering Tracks lately. Mirage was determined to find out what it was, and he doubted a romp in the crowded 'racks would be the ideal place for Tracks to open up.

"What if I make you overload so hard it reboots your hard drive and you forget to take it out of my account?" One of Tracks' hands dropped down to Mirage's aft.

"Mmm, hasn't happened yet!" Mirage laughed and turned to address the room at large. "In fact, I don't think all of you slaggers together could do it."

"Is that a challenge?" Sunstreaker called back.

"I think that was a challenge," Sideswipe said.

Now all optics were on Mirage, and most contained a predatory gleam. Out of the corner of his view field, Mirage could see Smokescreen approaching cautiously, and he knew he had to act quickly if he was going to make this at all interesting.

Pulling out of Tracks' arms, he made a quick inventory of the mechs present: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Tracks, Smokescreen, and Cliffjumper. Not unmanageable, and his appointment for the evening had private 'rack, so Mirage would be able to get properly cleaned off. Laughing, Mirage ducked out of the loose circle that was forming, and said, "If you want to wash me with that stuff, you'll have to catch me first." Then he activated his electro-disruptor.

"Hey!"

"No fair!"

Immediately the mechs, who had previously been squaring off over him, started working together.

"Sunstreaker, you and Sideswipe block the entrance, make sure he can't slip out that way," Tracks ordered, and the twins immediately moved to obey. "Cliffjumper, get the back door. Smokescreen and I will sweep the area."

"Hey, how come you two get to go for him?" Cliffjumper looked mutinous.

"Because we're the only two mechs with wings, aft-head," Smokescreen answered. "We'll have a better chance of feeling it if he moves around."

Mirage watched in amusement as the two mechs walked around the wash-racks, trying to locate him. It was ridiculously easy to avoid their groping hands, though he wanted to snicker as they fumbled about the room. He moved cautiously towards Cliffjumper. The Minibot was standing just a tad too far away from the narrow egress, and Mirage delicately slipped out of the room, allowing himself a wicked little thrill of amusement while imagining them fumbling around for him long after he was gone.

He would make it up to Tracks when Tracks sent an appointment request, like he was supposed to.

Mirage walked down the corridor, invisible, not wanting to engage any other mechs at the moment. Fortunately most were either still in the various cleaning facilities or being subjected to Ratchet's tender mercies, so the hallways were practically deserted. Mirage grabbed a large cube of energon in the rec room. He had a feeling his appointment wouldn't stop to refuel after the officer's meeting that was undoubtedly taking place right now.

Making his way through the officer's section, Mirage stopped before a door that appeared no different from all the others and entered his code. Most mechs had set the permissions on their quarters to allow Mirage access – after all, who would want to deny him?

He made a small noise of relief as he unclasped his shoulder launcher, and disconnected the electro-disruptor. Both were set in the corner. Mirage then took a few sips from the energon cube, and placed it on the table next to the berth. A small room in the back housed the 'racks – fortunately they could be automatically controlled with a comm signal, because the spray head was much too high for Mirage to reach.

The detergent present in the 'rack was the regular human dish soap that was ordered in bulk. Normally Mirage avoided using the harsh cleaner, but occasional use didn't affect his finish too badly, and at this point all Mirage cared about was getting the mud off.

He relished the feeling of the water and suds flowing into all of the little chinks and seams of his plating, removing the dirt from delicate components. A human industrial-size dust mop head was hanging on the wall, and Mirage grabbed it and put more dish soap on it before scrubbing his wheels.

When the lather flowing down the drain finally changed from brown to white, Mirage rinsed off thoroughly, and switched on the air blower. It wasn't a good way to get the best shine, but it would have to do.

Feeling much more refreshed, Mirage went back into the main room, and settled himself on the berth. He noted with amusement that all the mechs that had been in the 'racks had requested sessions with him.

He opened the one from Smokescreen.

_Mirage, I would like to request an appointment at 1500 hours tomorrow. Do you want more of that shampoo? Tracks isn't the only one who can get it . I know a guy._

The request from Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's joint account read:

_Heeeey goodlookin that was pretty funny what you did in the racks but seriously we can make you overload that hard just name the time and place and Cliffjumper is a slagging liar dont listen to him._

And of course there was an image attached to the request of Sideswipe's extended spike. Charming.

Curious about the last line, Mirage opened Cliffjumper's note.

_Hi Mirage, I just wanted to let you know that I thought that you were magnificent in the fight today. Just thinking about the way you sneaked up on Swindle and pegged him right in the bumper makes my engine rev. I know other mechs tell you this all the time, but you're the most beautiful 'bot I've ever seen._

And no matter what anyone else_ says about their so-called good looks (yellow is so overrated) don't forget that._

Honestly, Mirage was going to have to have a talk with them. There was enough of him to go around! Some of them could be annoying aft-heads sometimes, but they all held a special place in his spark. Mirage put their requests in his "pending" directory, as he didn't want to schedule any sessions until he reserved time for Hound.

With some trepidation, Mirage opened the message from Tracks. Tracks could be a little touchy sometimes, and Mirage hoped he wasn't put out by the incident in the 'racks.

_Beautiful Mirage,  
I do hope my gift didn't offend. It pains me to see someone as lovely as you having to use the harsh soap that is supplied for us. If it did, I apologize, and I also apologize for being so forward in the wash-racks. I know that put you on the spot. You handled my poor behavior with your usual grace and aplomb. I must admit I am jealous of your ability to always say and do the right thing in any given situation._

The sight of your elegant chassis, shining finish, and hearing your powerful engine all make me weak with desire for you. But more than that – your kindness and grace, and your beautiful spark are truly what makes our times together special to me. Please forgive my arrogance today, and I will make it up to you.

I have attached my duty schedule. I would love to have the opportunity to spend time with you again.

Your devoted servant,  
Tracks

Touched by the depth of feeling present in the letter, Mirage saved it to his personal file. A quick query to Teletraan-1 told Mirage that Tracks was in his quarters, but had not turned off his comm yet. Checking his chronometer, Mirage decided he still had enough time for a quick chat, and hailed Tracks' channel.

_"Tracks here."_

_"Hello, Tracks. This is Mirage."_

_"Mirage! Did...did you...?"_ Tracks' voice was uncertain.

_"Yes, I received your letter. It is very sweet Tracks, thank you. And I love your gift; I can't wait to use it with you."_ Mirage's tone was sultry.

_"U-use...with me?"_ Tracks sounded almost pathetically hopeful.

_"Of course, Tracks! I wasn't offended at all, there was no apology necessary. In fact, if circumstances had been different, I would have loved to use it with you right there."_

_"That's - that's nice to know, Mirage."_

_"Are you alone, Tracks?"_ asked Mirage, rolling over on the berth so that he lay on his front, resting his head on his folded arms.

_"Uh, yes. I'm alone. Blaster is still in the repair bay with Eject."_

_"Good."_ Mirage smiled mischievously. _"Because I want you to extend your spike for me."_

There was a long moment of silence from Tracks, but then he said, _"O-Ok. It's out."_

_"I want you to tell me what you want to do with your spike, Tracks. But I don't want you to touch yourself."_ Mirage was intent on showing Tracks that while he certainly liked them, he didn't _need_ fancy gifts or even a physical presence to be erotic. After all, the most erotic component of a mech was his processor.

_"Are you sure, Mirage? I don't know if you'd want-"_ protested Tracks.

_"Oh, _please_, Tracks,"_ begged Mirage in the tone that _always_ got him what he wanted. _"Please, I want to know how much _you_ want _me."

_"I want you so much, Mirage. I want t-to touch your wheels-"_

_"Mmm, yes, Tracks, I want you to touch them too, run your fingers over my treads..."_ Mirage bent his knees, and kicked his lower legs, one arm draping over the side of the berth to trace mindless little doodles on the plating of the floor.

_"Your wheels are so soft and wide, they're like no one else's, and I want to...Iwanttolickyourrims,"_ Tracks said in a rush, clearly embarrassed about the admission.

_"Oooh, _Tracks_, that sounds _wonderful_!"_ Mirage gave a static-filled moan over the comm link as he absently buffed at a scuffed spot on the berth. _"I want you to do that too, Tracks, I want you to touch and lick _wherever_ you want."_ Mirage was gratified to hear a rev of the Corvette's high-performance engine in the background of the transmission.

_"Mm-Mirage, I want, I want..."_

_"Yes, Tracks, tell me, I want to know."_

_"I want to take you in the 'racks... to - to cover you with lather, so much that I can't even _see_ your valve, and I have to feel for it -"_

_"I want you to find it, please quickly, I want you in me..."_

_"I want to put my spike deep in your valve, your lovely valve, it always feels so good, so _warm_ and when you're beneath me, you're so beautiful, and I never want to stop and I almost hate the overload because it means it will-"_

_"I want to touch your wings, Tracks, I want to run my hands on their edges, I want to hold onto them as you move in me…"_ Mirage lifted his hand and examined his finger tips, fastidiously digging out bits of dirt that had managed to work into his seams.

_"Your paint is so beautiful, Mirage, I want to wax you until I can see myself in it when I take you,"_ Tracks' voice was almost completely obscured by static now. _"I want to grab your axle, and take you from behind."_

_"Oh, Tracks, yes, I want that too, Tracks, I want your spike in me, I want to take it for _joors_, I want _you_ in my valve, Tracks, I'm _dripping_ for you, Tracks, _oh Tracks-"

There was a harsh cry from Tracks, and the other end of the comm went dead. Mirage preened a bit while waiting for Tracks to ping him. Oh _yes_, he still had it.

After a klik or two, the hail came and he accepted it.

_"Mn-Mir-rage?"_ Tracks slurred.

_"Yes, my handsome Tracks?"_

_"I-I didn't touch it, I swear I didn't, but I - I..."_

_"I know you didn't, Tracks,"_ Mirage said quickly, wanting to reassure his friend. _"I know you just want me so much, sometimes your processor runs away from you. And I feel bad about having to leave you like that. I hope this makes up for it?"_

_"It...Mirage, you didn't have to make up for anything. I was being an inconsiderate aft. I hope this means we can schedule something in person soon?"_

_"Of course it does. I noticed you're not on duty two shifts from now. Would 0030 work? The 'racks should be empty by then."_

_"Yes, that will work. Thank you, Mirage. I look forward to it."_

_"As do I. Recharge well, Tracks,"_ Mirage said warmly before he closed the link. The time he had suggested was during one of Hound's duty shifts, so it wouldn't interfere with Hound's scheduling.

Rearranging himself as attractively as possible on the berth, Mirage initiated his power save mode.


	3. Hold Me Now (Mirage/Optimus Prime; Fluff)

Mirage rebooted when a large hand squeezed his upper arm.

"Mirage, you didn't have to wait for me," Optimus Prime said quietly, rubbing Mirage's plating and kneeling next to the berth.

"Mmm, but I wanted to," Mirage murmured as he stretched languidly. Prime's berth was much larger than his, and he enjoyed the extra space to sprawl. Grabbing Optimus Prime's hand, Mirage laced their fingers together and tugged gently as he scooted back, urging Prime to join him.

"No, I know that if any other Autobot missed an appointment with you, you would not wait. My rank isn't a reason have extra privileges where you are concerned." Prime resisted Mirage and pulled his hand free, but his voice betrayed how much it cost him.

"Well, it just so happens that I don't have any appointments until third shift tomorrow," Mirage cajoled. "So there's no one that I'd have to bump..." he trailed off, and stretched again, this time making sure to cant his body so that it caught the dim light in the most fetching way possible. Mirage was rewarded with a hitch of Prime's vents and the faint sound of an internal fan activating. "But if you're _sure_ you don't want to..." Now Mirage reached out to touch Prime's leg, trailing a fingertip along the lateral seam.

With a helpless groan Optimus Prime lunged at him, rolling Mirage over until he was pinned beneath his leader. It seemed like Prime's hands were _everywhere_, Mirage could barely keep up as he tried to reciprocate the pleasure that was given to him.

After a klik, Optimus Prime's passion cooled a bit, and his caresses no longer had a desperate quality to them. He rolled to one side and propped himself up on his elbow, one massive leg thrown over Mirage's hip plate.

Mirage stretched his arms out above his head, gazing in adoration at Prime as his leader touched his body almost reverently. Prime's fingers traveled down his nosecone, tracing winglets, over the dancing gypsy emblem on Mirage's waist, and then back up along the aerodynamic curves of Mirage's alt-mode to his main sensor nexus.

Mirage's optics flickered off as the grid was stroked and teased. He arched his back and moaned, "Oh, _Prime_, yes-"

Immediately the hand stilled.

"Mirage, I'm not 'Prime'; not here, not now."

"Of course," Mirage switched on his optics, and reached over to wrap his arms around his leader's neck, one hand reaching up and playing with an antenna. "Optimus..."

Optimus groaned, pressing his facemask into Mirage's neck, ventilations coming in heavy cycles as several more cooling fans switched on at Mirage's use of his name. "Mirage, so wonderful, so beautiful, oh _Mirage_."

"Optimus," Mirage whispered again, as Optimus' facemask pressed into his neck. "_Optimus_." Optimus clutched at Mirage desperately, squeezing him until Mirage's plating creaked. They stayed motionless, frozen in position for a long moment.

Then the shaking started. Minute tremors, originating deep within Optimus' substructure, flowed through his struts until his entire chassis was quaking.

"Shhh, it's alright." Mirage rubbed Optimus' back soothingly. "Everyone's fine, we made it, everyone will be alright."

"This time," said Optimus, his face still buried in Mirage's shoulder. "But someday they won't be, someday you won't be able to say that." Optimus pulled back to look at Mirage, optics full of sadness. "Someday, you might not come back to say that."

Mirage made a sorrowful noise and tilted Optimus' head forward again, supporting it on his shoulder. "I know," he said finally. Optimus' arms tightened compulsively around him. "But it's a risk we are all taking willingly. We all know that you care about every one of us- you will do whatever it takes to keep us safe. But," Mirage paused to cycle his vents, "This _is_ a war. There will be deaths and casualties, and ugly things will be done in order to win. A commander as kind and caring as you makes it bearable."

"I don't want to lead you to your dooms, but some days I fear that's what is going to happen."

"Then we must take our pleasures now, while we still can," Mirage whispered into Optimus' audio. Optimus groaned again, and held Mirage even tighter. "You give us so much of yourself, Optimus. You give us everything you have. Take something for yourself, take me. I'm yours tonight."

"_Mirage_." Optimus shifted so that he was on top of Mirage once again, his impressive weight bearing down on Mirage, pressing him into the berth. Optimus Prime's engine growled, shaking Mirage's plating. Mirage cut power to his optics, so that he could concentrate on the input from his plating sensors.

"Let go, Optimus, you can let go."

Finally he heard the sound he wanted – the metallic _snick_ of Optimus' battle mask retracting.

When he turned on his optics, Optimus was still, holding himself above Mirage and gazing down at him. Mirage didn't understand why his commander kept his face hidden behind the mask all the time. His features were strong yet beautiful, with skillfully tooled lip components, and cheek plating expertly polished and completely free from scratches and burrs. Whomever had manufactured Optimus' facial components had taken great care to make them perfectly symmetrical.

A large blue hand reached towards Mirage's face, and Mirage accepted the touch, moving his head to allow Optimus greater access. As the fingers traced his lips Mirage flicked out his glossa. Optimus groaned.

Mirage suspected that Optimus wanted to ask for something, but was resisting the urge. He still remembered their first time together. Optimus had been so _careful_: always stressing that rank had no place in the berth, and constantly checking to make sure that Mirage was not simply acquiescing because of his position. Over time, Mirage had become quite skilled at picking up when Optimus desired a particular activity, but was loath to ask directly, for fear of putting undue pressure on Mirage.

"Tell me what you want." Mirage reached up with one hand, cradling Optimus' large mandible. "Please, I want to give it to you."

Optimus turned his head and nuzzled Mirage's palm, nipping at it and using his glossa to map out the seams. "I – I couldn't ask you to do it."

"Yes you can, Optimus. I want to please you." Mirage turned Optimus' face back, to look deep into his optics.

"It's... something I've seen the humans do." Optimus still sounded unsure.

"Yes?"

"I...would you... I want to kiss you," Optimus said finally, looking away. "I had never thought much about the custom until I saw Spike and Carly kissing, and they seemed so... connected. It wasn't like what you see on the human television shows. I want that. I want to feel that. But if you don't want to I will understand."

"Oh, Optimus, you don't have to be ashamed about that – lots of Autobots have wanted to try it. Kissing is very fun." Mirage smiled solicitously, slipped his hand up behind Optimus' helm, and pulled him closer, until their lip components were bare milimechanometers apart. Mirage loved seeing Optimus like this – it was an honor to be one of the few people Optimus would drop his public persona of the confident and hardened war commander for, and put his secret wishes, hopes and fears on display.

"How do you do it?" asked Optimus.

"Like this," Mirage spoke in a whisper and closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Optimus'. For a few nanokliks he stayed motionless, allowing Optimus to fully experience the sensation.

Then Mirage moved. He could feel the wave of tension that passed through Optimus' frame as he deepened the kiss, friction building between their lip components, sending pleasure shooting through their sensor relays. Mirage maneuvered his glossa to create a slight vacuum in his oral cavity, mimicking the suction that humans seemed to find so stimulating.

Optimus broke away, vents heaving. Mirage leaned back and smiled up at him. "Did you like it?"

"It's incredible, Mirage."

"And it's not over. Come here." Mirage pulled Optimus down again. This time, he moved his lip components, traveling to the corner of Optimus' larger oris, and gently nibbling with his denta. Mirage moved his hand down to the side of Optimus' face as his leader became more confident. Mirage hooked one leg over Optimus', and stroked a pede up and down his leg-plating. Optimus broke the kiss, stiffening and focusing on a point over Mirage's helm at the sensations coursing through his frame.

When Optimus had himself under control, Mirage lifted his head up and began to gently explore Optimus Prime's neck cables with glossa and denta. Optimus' optics flickered, and he groaned, almost undone once again. It was one of their little games – Optimus always tried to keep himself under control, but Mirage delighted in driving him completely out of his processor with desire, and he knew just what buttons to push to make that happen.

"_Optimus_, my vents, please, _mmm_-"

Obeying the plea instantly, Optimus' glossa was exploring the sensitive structures of Mirage's helm – the sensors on his vents were finely tuned to detect minute changes in air particulate concentrations and temperature; the direct stimulation made Mirage's sensor grid light up like Iacon in its heyday. Mirage thrashed beneath Optimus, but kept his helm still; he didn't want to do anything to jeopardize the wonderful sensations Optimus was providing.

Engine growling, Optimus continued along the line of Mirage's mandible when he reached the bottom of one vent. Mirage made quiet whimpers and other noises of arousal each time Optimus caught a bit of plating or a wire between his denta. Massive arms curled behind his shoulder struts, and one hand slid behind his neck, tilting Mirage's head back so that Optimus had more room to maneuver.

Mirage ran his hands down Optimus' helm, over his shoulders, fondling exhaust pipes along the way. When Mirage reached Optimus' windshield, he delicately and carefully traced the windshield wipers. At the first touch Optimus threw his head back and gave a deep, strangled-sounding shout. Mirage took advantage of this to rise up and place his mouth over the running lights on Optimus' clavicular plating.

Then there was a flurry of activity; bumping mouths, hands grabbing for anything they could hold, and for a moment Mirage felt as if Optimus was trying to _consume_ him, and he lost all reference to the world apart from the hands and digits and lip components that were doing such _wonderful_ things to his body.

Eventually they ended up with Optimus on his back, and Mirage draped across his chest, nibbling on one of Optimus' neck cables.

"Mirage," Optimus said, finally, when both had somewhat recovered from the surge of passion that had overtaken them.

"Yes, Optimus?" Mirage left off what he was doing.

"Open for me, please." Optimus' voice was husky with static. "Please, Mirage. I need you, I need you so much."

"Yes, Optimus." The click of Mirage's interfacing unit cover opening seemed loud, and Optimus clutched Mirage more tightly for a for a moment, before rolling Mirage onto his back and sitting up.

"Optimuuus, Come here, I want to hold you." Mirage stretched out his arms, inviting Optimus to come back down to him.

"No, Mirage, I want to give you something now." Optimus Prime pressed Mirage's arms back down next to his head, and moved backwards to kneel at the foot of the berth. Mirage propped himself up on his elbows to try and see what Optimus was doing, but his leader shook his head and motioned him back down. "Just relax, Mirage." Optimus slid his hands beneath the back of Mirage's knee joints, stroking gently.

He lifted them slowly, and spread them apart, until Mirage's valve was completely exposed to him.

"Please I want you inside of me." Mirage tossed his head a bit, to demonstrate how much he _needed_ Optimus right now.

Optimus looked at him with dimmed optics, and said, "When I saw you in the repair bay today Mirage, do you know what I wanted to do?"

Mirage bit his lower lip plating and shook his head.

"This." Optimus leaned forward and pressed his lip components to the rim of Mirage's valve. He spoke against the delicately tooled components, every movement causing Mirage to writhe in ecstasy. "Your valve is so wonderfully crafted, I could do this forever." Optimus allowed his glossa to slip out and trace one of the decorative scrolls along the rim. The scroll moved in a graceful curve up from the rim of Mirage's valve to his anterior sensor node, and Optimus followed it until the end.

"Unngh, _Optimus_, feels so _good_, please, _more_." Mirage wiggled, spreading his thighs shamelessly, encouraging Optimus to press closer by rolling his pelvic unit a few times.

Optimus caught Mirage's hip plate at the apex of the movement, and effortlessly lifted it, so that Mirage was inverted: the occiput of his helm barely rested against the plating of the berth, his backstrut was supported by Optimus' knees and thorax, and his knee joints were hooked over Optimus' broad shoulders. Mirage continued to move his pelvic unit in an undulating motion, craving more contact. However, Optimus held him still, and leaning close, carefully switched on his vents to release a soft puff of warm air across the sensitive components.

Mirage let out a soft, staticky whimper as the moving air caressed his valve. Running his hands over his own body, he abandoned himself to his hedonistic urges. Stroking a neck cable, tweaking his winglets, Mirage arched his back strut in reaction to the powerful arousal consuming him.

When Optimus Prime pressed against his anterior sensor node and revved his engine, Mirage shrieked. One hand came up to latch onto Prime's wrist, clenching and relaxing with every movement between Mirage's legs.

"_Oh_, yes, yes, _more_," plead Mirage. Prime captured a bead of lubricant that had escaped from the lip of his valve, and pushed his glossa more forcefully against the decorated opening. Mirage's struts went limp when Prime's glossa stimulated the mechanoreceptors just inside of his valve's aperture. He was helpless to do anything other than moan weakly and quiver as Optimus attended Mirage's valve with renewed vigor. Mirage tried to hold himself back, tried to muster up the will to tug on Optimus' arms and encourage his leader to just _take_ him already, but he couldn't, couldn't do anything that would stop what Optimus was doing at that instant-

Mirage's overload came upon him quickly, a wave of fire that burned through his pelvic unit and licked up his back struts and sensor lines. He bucked in Optimus' grasp, and his vocoder shorted out in a buzz of static and feedback. In the dark of the refractory period, Mirage could vaguely feel his body lowered down gently, and large hands move slowly up his body. Mirage's optics rebooted as one of Optimus' hands stroked his lip plating. He cycled his vocoder, flipping the necessary internal settings to bring it back online.

"Mmm, _Optimus_, that was _wonderful_." Mirage lifted arms that felt as if they were plated with lead and draped them over Prime's shoulders. "Thank you." Prime's plating was radiating heat, and Mirage could feel the tension still contained in his struts. The knowledge that it was desire for _him_ that reduced his leader to this state was almost more arousing to Mirage than Optimus' touch. Optimus' lip components followed his digits, and he kissed Mirage once again.

Mirage relaxed his mandible, allowing Optimus to take the initiative this time. The chemoreceptors on his glossa detected and identified his own lubricant, adding to the eroticism of the moment. Prime was picking up the skill of kissing fairly quickly; his denta only barely scraped Mirage's plating a few times at first. Prime deepened the kiss, pushing Mirage back into the berth.

They amused themselves that way for a few kliks, until a grinding sound came from Optimus Prime's holding tanks. Optimus broke the kiss, and lifted himself on his elbow joints.

"Sorry, Mirage, I need to refuel first." Optimus ran a finger down Mirage's cheek plating.

"Of course, go ahead." Mirage smiled impishly. "I'm not going anywhere." He wiggled his pelvic unit, which was being pressed against the berth by Optimus' weight.

Rumbling in amusement, Optimus reached over to the berth-side shelf and picked up the cube of energon Mirage had left there.

"Do you need to refuel, Mirage?" Optimus offered the cube to Mirage first.

Mirage ran a quick check of his energy levels. "No, I brought that for you. I knew you wouldn't take the time to refuel properly." Mirage watched intently as Optimus poured a generous portion down his intake. One of Mirage's hands worked its way up Optimus' chassis, and tweaked a windshield wiper.

Optimus jerked in surprise, his pelvic unit spasming against Mirage. A bit of energon sloshed out of the cube and splattered down onto Mirage.

Prime started to apologize, but Mirage silenced him with a finger to his lips. He lifted his other hand to his chassis and trailed a finger through the energon and placed the digit into his mouth. But before he could return his hand to pick up more of the pink fluid, Optimus caught Mirage's wrist, and then bent his head to lap up the rest of the spilled energon with his glossa.

Mirage arched up towards Optimus, and let out a burst of feedback from his vocoder. The spill was right over one of his main sensor relays and it felt wonderful. Heat was building in his struts again, much more slowly this time however. His optics unfocussed, and he stared at the ceiling plating while Optimus worked at cleaning up all traces of the spill from his plating. By the time Optimus was done and had dispersed the cube, Mirage's internal fans were humming once again.

One of Optimus' hands caressed Mirage's thigh plating, working its way ever closer to his valve. Optimus shifted his weight off of Mirage as he leaned down for another kiss. Mirage made a tiny noise of pleasure against Optimus' mouth as two digits carefully slid into him. His pelvic unit pumped against Optimus' hand; the fire was building again. He distantly heard the sound of Prime's panel opening and his spike extending. Mirage opened his thighs wider and lifted his pedes slightly, eagerly anticipating Prime filling him. He groaned in disappointment when the fingers left his valve.

Their differences in height made it impossible for Prime to continue the kiss when he entered Mirage's valve. He let out a deep, rumbling groan that shook Mirage's struts as he pushed in as far he could go. Mirage hissed in strain as his recently-tightened valve creaked when it adjusted to accommodate Optimus' girth.

"Are you alright -nngh- Mirage?" Optimus held himself as still as he could within Mirage.

"Doing -_uh_\- just fine." Mirage's voice was tight despite his words. "Give me a moment -mmf- please." Mirage turned off his optics and concentrated on relaxing the joints and springs that surrounded his valve-housing. They were always a little stiff right after a re-tooling, and with his chucks set where they were, it took more time than usual to adjust.

Finally, he managed to relieve some of the tension, and the pleasure came flooding back. Mirage hooked his ankle joints together behind Optimus' waist, and leaned up to nibble his grill.

"M- Mirage," rumbled Optimus. "_Mirage_." Optimus pulled out slowly before pushing in and holding again. His powerful engine revved in time to the thrust. "You're so beautiful, _Mirage_." Mirage braced himself against another push out and in.

 

"Optimus, oh, Optimus," Mirage said, his voice muffled against Prime's plating. "Please, Optimus, more, _please_."

"Yes, yes, M-Mirage!"

Mirage writhed in ecstasy as the last twinge of discomfort dissolved into heat. He encouraged Optimus to move with a twitch of his leg struts. Optimus began a slow but regular rhythm; he always held himself for just a few nanokliks at the deepest part of his thrust, pressing against Mirage's sensor node. Already ramped up from his previous overload, Mirage's systems cycled hotter, faster this time.

"Oh, Optimus, please, _mmm-_" Mirage gasped. The heat in his pelvic unit seemed to shoot up his back strut, making his processor buzz with pleasure. He went limp against the berth, unable to maintain enough processing power to continue touching Optimus. Mirage could feel the curious numbness that followed the fire, a herald of a truly circuit-shorting overload. Turning his optics off and tipping his head to the side, Mirage held one of his digits between his denta. As Optimus kept pushing into him, a tingling started to build in his pede-tips.

Then Optimus pressed close and revved his engine, and it felt to Mirage as if the whole _Ark_ was vibrating from it.

The tingling surged up his struts, making Mirage's circuits sing. He bucked against Optimus, and his optics blazed white as he screamed his release before the overwhelming energy flowing through his relays made him shut down. As Mirage's vision clouded over with the welcoming darkness, he dimly felt Optimus holding his body tightly as his leader shuddered through his own overload.

Mirage rebooted in Optimus Prime's arms. The room was dark, but deep in the mountain that had little correlation to the actual time of day topside. Mirage checked his chronometer. It was at least a joor and a half later than when Optimus had first roused him. Perhaps he _should_ have had some of the energon.

As he analyzed his position and calculated the best way to extricate himself without disturbing Optimus Prime, Mirage noticed a new message flag on his HUD. Curious, he stilled himself and opened it.

It was from Hound.

_Mirage,  
I've traded third shift tomorrow with Brawn, and would like to request an appointment from 2300 to 0700. Please let me know. I look forward to spending time with you._

Affectionately,  
Hound

'Well, slag.' Mirage stifled a frustrated sigh. He'd scheduled Tracks right in the middle of that! And it wouldn't be fair to Tracks to suddenly change his mind. It was hard to schedule Hound on such short notice – because Hound often reserved large chunks of Mirage's time, it had to fit with both of their duties and missions, and because Hound was billeted with Trailbreaker, it had to be during a time that Trailbreaker would agree to not be using their rooms. This was why Hound often made his requests human _months_ in advance.

He wrote back,

_Hound,  
I'm so sorry, but I've scheduled an appointment with someone else during that time,_

Mirage barely kept himself from adding, "because I didn't know you were going to change your schedule, you aft-head."

_-but I notice that you have time free two solar cycles from now. Would some time that date work? Please let me know. I've missed being with you terribly._

Yours truly,  
Mirage

Carefully, slowly, stealthily, Mirage began to disentangle himself from Prime's embrace. It was clear that Optimus Prime had been online for at least a short while after overloading. Mirage's panel was closed, and there was no transfluid smeared on his plating.

Mirage spared a fond smile for his commander before turning and swinging his legs over the side of the berth. He had enough joors to spare to be able to complete his recharge in his own quarters, and he was looking forward to it. Although his room was small and rather primitive, it was Mirage's sanctuary. No one was allowed to bother him for an appointment there, and he had never even considered holding a session in his own room.

While it had been an enjoyable day, Mirage was eager to be alone. He loved his crew-mates, and he loved the attention they showered on him, but in order to be truly centered and rested, Mirage required time with his own thoughts.

As he stood a large hand encircled his wrist, preventing him from rising to his pedes.

"Mirage, you know you can recharge here if you need to." Optimus Prime tugged on Mirage's arm as he sat up. "Come back to berth." Prime's other hand slid up Mirage's arm, tracing the racing logos that decorated his shoulder plating.

"I have to go, sir." Mirage patted the hand on his shoulder, and smiled at his commander.

A flash of pain appeared in Optimus Prime's optics at Mirage's use of the honorific. "Mirage... please stay. I would like it very much if you did," Optimus Prime said, removing his hand from Mirage's shoulder and holding it out for Mirage to take. "Please, just- just a little while longer."

"Of course," Mirage said gently, taking Prime's hand and returning to his side. Optimus rolled over onto his back, and Mirage settled against him. He leaned up to place a kiss against Optimus Prime's mandible before resting his helm on his commander's wide chest. As the pair's systems powered down once again, Mirage whispered, "Recharge well... Optimus."

Prime rumbled in contentment, and his hand briefly tightened over Mirage's before recharge claimed him.


	4. P. D. A. (Mirage/Tracks; Public Sex)

Mirage lazily traced the Autobot symbol adorning the chassis of the mech beneath him. It had been an extremely good 'face, and he was feeling very... sated. While he waited for his berthmate to reboot, Mirage entertained himself by watching the reflection of his fingertip slide over the mech's plating. He didn't bother to fully focus his optics; that would just be too much effort. Far better to simply bask in the afterglow his overload, and-

A hand grabbed his.

"Mirage, keep that up and I can't be held responsible for what happens." Tracks brought Mirage's hand up to his mouth and delicately kissed Mirage's knuckle-joint plating.

Mirage laughed quietly, and moved his hand to stroke Tracks' cheek plating. He tilted Tracks' head and stretched up to place a kiss on his chin. "I cannot help myself," Mirage murmured against Tracks' plating. "You are rather shiny."

Tracks covered Mirage's hand with his own, and spoke against his palm. "Carnauba wax. It's from the leaves of a tree that grows in the South American rain forest. _Some_ say that paint sealer gives a nicer, _harder_ shine, but I find the organic nature of wax far more... exotic. And the shine is more... _wet_."

"Mmm... wet," Mirage teased, referring to their earlier activities. Tracks' engine revved at the suggestive tone of Mirage's voice.

"_Yes_, just like that Mirage." Tracks suddenly grabbed Mirage's wrist, and tumbled him over so that Mirage was pinned beneath Tracks' larger chassis. "Just like you came from the 'racks." Tracks leaned down, so that their nasal plating was almost touching. "Mechs will look at you and they won't be able to help but think of you in the 'racks; lather running down over your plating, water and solvent flowing into _every_ little _crevice_..."

Mirage gave an indignant little shriek when Tracks' _other_ hand caressed his valve. Mirage laughed as Tracks slipped a finger into his midaxillary seam and tickled a sensor bundle. There was a flurry of activity as he squirmed and laughed and tried to evade Tracks' teasing touches. He managed to counter the hand coming for his helm vents, but then that left his side seam wide open, and Tracks mercilessly exploited the wires that ran close to the surface there. The tussle escalated until the pair found themselves rolling off of the berth.

With a quick twist of his body, Tracks managed to pin Mirage, holding Mirage's wrists to the ground on either side of his head.

"I win." Tracks sported a feral grin.

"Oh no," Mirage deadpanned. "Whatever shall I do now?"

Tracks gave a true and hearty laugh at that. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Mirage's lip components. Mirage returned it eagerly, but as Tracks withdrew Mirage noticed his optics flickering.

"Your levels are low."

"A bit," Tracks admitted. "To tell you truth, with the extra patrols Prowl has ordered, I've been running low more than usual."

"You should monitor your energy levels more closely Tracks! I'd feel terrible if I did something that pushed you over the edge into stasis."

"Then I believe it would be best if we adjourned to the rec room and refueled." Tracks pushed himself up and stood. He then took hold of Mirage's hand and pulled him to his pedes. Pulling Mirage close, Tracks said, "What say we go together and see how many heads we can turn, my lovely Mirage?" Tracks reached down and wrapped a proprietary arm around Mirage's waist. "I think I'll enjoy being the envy of the rec room... for 0.45 joors, at least."

* * *

When they entered the rec room, Tracks and Mirage found a party in full swing. Every mech who wasn't on duty must have been there.

"I suppose it's one of Sideswipe's impromptu shindigs," said Tracks. "Do you want to stay, or just grab a cube and find some place quiet?"

Mirage sidestepped a pair of minibots that came stumbling by before answering. "We can stay." He smiled at Tracks' surprised look. Mirage tended to avoid large gatherings and parties. "Well, you did mention being envied?"

"Yes, shall we?" said Tracks as he took Mirage's elbow and guided him towards the energon dispenser.

"And what could this be?" Mirage looked dubiously at the large cube of energon that had been placed in front of the regular dispenser.

Instead of the usual bright, glowing pink, the energon inside of the cube was a deep heliotrope, the lights in the rec room creating a scintillating effect as they shown on the shimmering surface. Mirage looked over at Tracks, who looked back at him, a baffled expression on his face.

"Heeey, Mirage, I was worried that you wouldn't show up. Hi Tracks!" Sideswipe suddenly appeared between them, wrapping an arm around Tracks' neck in a friendly fashion, and placing a hand on Mirage's hip, in a decidedly more than-friendly-one.

"Sideswipe, what on Cybertron _is_ this?" Tracks asked, his optics focused on Sideswipe's hand.

With as much grace as he could muster, Mirage carefully turned his body so that Sideswipe wasn't able to continue touching him without being inappropriately obvious about it.

Sideswipe allowed his hand to be dislodged, but in the process lingered just a nanoklik too long on Mirage's aft to be entirely appropriate. Mirage vented a small puff of air in annoyance. Sideswipe's only reaction was to flick off one optic in a cheeky wink, something Mirage had noticed more and more 'Bots picking up from their human allies.

"This is my new improved high-grade. Try it; I worked on getting it as close to the Towers' blend as I could, just for you, Mirage. Everyone seems to really like it."

Mirage looked around the rec room again. True, most of the 'Bots present had a cube in hand, and were talking and laughing gaily.

"Alright." Tracks stepped forward to pull a cube. "I'll try it, you miscreant. May I draw a cube for you as well, Mirage?"

"Yes, please."

"Oh, c'mon over here with me, Mirage." Sideswipe grabbed Mirage's arm and gave a tug when Tracks' back was turned. "I have an extra cube ready."

Mirage frowned at Sideswipe as another questing hand rested on his hip plate.

_"Sideswipe, please stop,"_ said Mirage over an private comm, frowning more pointedly._ "Tracks has an appointment right now, and you are being very inappropriate. I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate someone else acting this way during one of _your_ sessions."_

Sideswipe stepped back, appearing startled, then sent, _"No, but I would know better than to let you out of my berth during an appointment. Who the slag would come to the rec room during-"_

_"We'll discuss this later."_ Mirage closed the channel, cutting Sideswipe's protest off, and accepted a cube from Tracks. With another suspicious look at the energon, he lifted the cube and took a cautious sip.

His chemoreceptors lit up like a human holiday display as the energon flowed over them. It was _amazing_. Smooth and sweet, and very close indeed to Towers-blend. It did not seem quite as strong through.

"This is very nice," he said, astonished. "How did you do it?"

"That's my secret, lovely Mirage! But I'm just happy I finally managed to make something that meets your standards." Sideswipe stepped away, calling back over his shoulder, "Enjoy the energon, and enjoy the party!"

"Astonishing, it only took him two years to figure out that just making energon stronger doesn't make it better." Tracks' mouth was set in a thin line as watched Sideswipe walk away.

"Don't let him bother you, Tracks," Mirage said, draining his cube and going to pull another. "He didn't know that you were using chits."

After both had their second cubes in-hand, Tracks and Mirage went to go find a place to sit and consume them. There was only one seat available tucked away in a dim corner of the room, but Tracks simply plopped himself down in it and pulled Mirage onto his lap.

As Mirage consumed the energon, he felt his annoyance with Sideswipe draining away. In fact, he felt as _all_ his recent concerns were nothing. He leaned up against Tracks' warm chassis, basking in the feeling of being held. As Tracks' non-energon-holding hand rubbed up and down Mirage's arm strut, a warm, tingling sensation suffused his circuits, soothing and pleasant.

After a breem, Mirage realized he was a bit lightheaded. Perhaps the energon was a bit richer than he had initially thought? He would simply have to abstain for the rest of the party, as unfortunate as that thought was.

Tracks had finished his cube and dispersed it, and was now concentrating on exploring Mirage's neck and helm vents with lips and glossa.

"Mmmm," Mirage sighed. "That feels so good."

"Wish I could make you feel even better," Tracks said against Mirage's plating, as one hand traveled down Mirage's nose cone and hip plate, finally resting over his panel. "Wish I could have you again, have you right now."

"Why can't you?" Mirage smiled and tilted Tracks' head up, looking into his optics with a sultry smile.

"What- _here?_ Now?" Tracks glanced around nervously.

Mirage blew a frustrated blast of air out his vents, as he followed Tracks' gaze. Nobody seemed to be paying much attention to them, but Tracks had always been very… reserved about interfacing in public. Even when they had been in the 'racks, Tracks insisted on going to the most remote and rarely used facility.

"Why not?" Mirage lowered his voice, caressed Tracks' mandible with one hand and pulled his head around so that they were optic-to-optic. "I want you too, Tracks." Mirage threw a leg over Tracks' lap so that he was facing Tracks and straddling his leg struts. Mirage then rolled his pelvic unit, rubbing their panels together. Tracks' hands clutched compulsively at his hip plate. "Please, once more, Tracks."

"I don't – I don't know."

"Am I going to have to take care of myself, Tracks?" Mirage pushed back a little, but still held Tracks' gaze. Slowly, deliberately he ran one finger down his chassis, over his sensor grid and the Autobot symbol adorning his chassis, and along the curve of his nose cone. "I will if I have to." Mirage switched on one of his cooling fans, a deliberately erotic gesture. He moaned and turned off his optics, bringing his other hand up to tease his helm vents. As a final, desperate measure, Mirage rubbed his panel against Tracks' thigh plating.

With a helpless moan, Tracks grabbed Mirage's shoulder wheels and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Mirage gave a gasp of surprise against Tracks' lip components, but then opened his mouth and allowed Tracks to deepen the kiss. One of Mirage's hands stroked over Tracks' helm, and inside of his cowling, the other grabbed for one of his wings, tracing the red stripe that decorated them.

Mirage then reached down, and ran his hand over the outside of Tracks' panel. He smiled against the kiss as Tracks stiffened and crushed Mirage's chassis to his own desperately.

"You're so beautiful Mirage," Tracks said against Mirage's mouth in a voice thick with static. "I can't help myself."

Mirage felt a flush of pleasure as he always did whenever a 'Bot complimented him. The extra charge from the high-grade running through his circuits enhanced his sensor net, making Tracks' every touch feel more intense than usual.

"Oh, Tracks," whispered Mirage. Mirage knew how much Tracks loved to hear his partner say his name. "Please, I want you in me-" Mirage retracted the armor panel over his valve, and positioned himself directly above Tracks' spike housing. "Please, _Tracks_-" Mirage's words cut off as Tracks suddenly retracted his armor and extended his spike, thrusting it into Mirage's valve in one smooth movement. Tracks held onto Mirage's hips, holding him firmly in place.

For a klik, they both held still, Mirage struggling to keep from squirming as the sensitized receptors in his valve adjusted to the sudden stimulation. He'd already overloaded twice this session, and only the concentrated energon he'd just consumed allowed him to attempt a third. Tracks buried his face against Mirage's neck, shuddering sporadically. Then Mirage moved his pelvic unit, and Tracks gave a soft, strangled cry.

"Shh," said Mirage softly. "Don't -_nngh_\- want anyone to n-notice, right?" He nudged Tracks' face up, and then rested their helms together, looking deep into Tracks' flickering optics.

"Don't care anymore."

"Good, just think about _me_."

"_Mmmm-_"

Mirage rolled his hips again, never breaking their gaze. He moved slowly, rhythmically, relishing the way Tracks _pulled_ him into each thrust, the way Tracks' optics dimmed and brightened in time to their movements. Each push of Tracks' spike caused his pelvic unit sensors to flare to life, each time more intense than the last. Finally, Mirage overloaded, shaking and quivering against Tracks, before going limp. Mirage didn't offline, and could feel Tracks moving his limp chassis urgently down onto his spike, before Tracks too overloaded with a burst of static.

They stayed like that for awhile, and Mirage kept his optics off, enjoying the closeness. He hummed in contentment when Tracks began to rub his back plating.

"Mmm, Mirage." Tracks finally said nuzzled one of Mirage's helm-vents. "I think my appointment is over."

Mirage checked his chronometer. "I was having so much fun, too." Mirage smiled warmly at Tracks before leaning in again to give him a kiss. Tracks reacted with a small noise of surprise, but then responded eagerly, one hand coming up to hold the back of Mirage's helm, his touch more soothing and confident than amorous now. Mirage could dimly hear the noises of the party going on around him, but they seemed to fade away in place of the buzzing that was beginning to well up in his processor. "Make another appointment soon," Mirage said when they broke apart.

"Of course," said Tracks, voice low and mellow, betraying his completely relaxed state. "Go on now, enjoy the party." He gave Mirage a little boost as Mirage dismounted his lap.

"Do not keep me waiting." Mirage said over his shoulder as he sauntered away.

Almost immediately he was engulfed in the crowd of carousing Autobots, and he made his way from one little group to the next, talking and laughing, enjoying the chance to socialize with his friends and fellow Autobot soldiers.

Eventually he ended up in a group that consisted of Wheeljack, Trailbreaker, and Ironhide.

"Mm, this stuff is good, but I've had enough." Trailbreaker looked down into his cube at the purple liquid. "Here, Mirage, do you want the rest? I know it's supposed to be like the Towers grade energon."

"Yes, thank you," Mirage said as he took the cube from Trailbreaker and sipped from it. It really would be a shame if Trailbreaker had to dispose of it, and the overload with Tracks earlier had cleared some of the excess charge from his circuits.

"I suppose it's a good thing that Prime managed to get that trade agreement with Texaco," said Wheeljack. "Otherwise there wouldn't be nearly enough energon to spare to make any high grade."

"Do you know what the agreement was?" asked Mirage. "He and Prowl have been very secretive about it."

"No, I don't know either, Mirage." Wheeljack looked up at a point past Mirage's shoulder. "Hi Hound, glad you could make it."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for anything. Hello Trailbreaker, Ironhide." Hound turned to Mirage and gave him a broad smile. "Mirage."

Mirage smiled back at Hound, his spark warming.

"Good evening, Hound." Mirage was glad that he would get to spend _some_ time with Hound tonight, even though they hadn't been able to schedule anything yet.

They spoke for a few kliks, discussing the latest _Ark_ scuttlebutt.

"Hello, my friends," Smokescreen shouldered into their little circle during a break in the conversation. "We're having a little... _game_, and I was wondering if I might interest any of you in participating, Hound, I think the stakes will be of particular interest to- oh!" Smokescreen cut off as he caught sight of Mirage behind Trailbreaker's bulky chassis. "Uh, never mind I think we have enough mechs, I'll just-"

"Wait, Smokescreen, what's this game?" Hound frowned a bit. "And why do you want to keep it from Mirage?"

"What? I don't want to keep it from Mirage, Oh no no no, it's just that I remembered, that, uh, Skyfire said that he wanted to play. I'll run along and go get-"

"Skyfire is on patrol, Smokescreen." Now Trailbreaker was wearing an identical frown. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Forget-"

"Well, _I'm_ going to find out what's going on," said Mirage. He turned and scoped out the corner where Smokescreen had come from. "It must be something interesting." Mirage left the little group of mechs behind and walked over to investigate.


	5. Like A Virgin (Mirage/Bluestreak; First Time)

Sideswipe, Bluestreak, and Windcharger were all seated around a table. Sunstreaker was looking on with disinterest. A very small energon cube, filled to the brim, was in the center of the table and a variety of large slotted steel nuts were on the table. All of the mechs grew quiet as Mirage approached. Mirage arched a mental brow-ridge at that, but kept his expression mild and pleasant.

"Uh, hi, Mirage." Sideswipe gave him a big grin, an expression which Mirage had long since learned meant he was hiding something.

"Great. I knew we shouldn't let Smokescreen go get more-"

"Hey, we need more or it won't be fair, because you have a _team_-" Windcharger said angrily.

"Hey, not anymore!" Sunstreaker growled. "Leave me out of it!"

Bluestreak was staring hard at the table, looking like he wished he could disappear through the floor.

"What's going on here? Is it a new game?" Mirage walked around the table, examining the little piles. Then he noticed one of the piles was _not_ made up of nuts.

It was made up of chits. _His_ chits. It suddenly became abundantly clear what the mechs were doing. They were _gambling_ with _his_ time! _And here I thought Sideswipe had learned his lesson. I'm just going to have to pound it into that node of misconnected wiring he calls a processor._

Smokescreen had managed to get back to the table by this time, and was looking guiltily at Mirage. Hound and Trailbreaker were behind him.

"Er, Mirage, I can explain-"

"Explain, Smokescreen?" Mirage gave him a bright smile. "Why would you have to explain anything?" Mirage said as he grabbed the cube. "In fact, let's move this to the _middle_ of the room. There's really no need to _hide_ what you're doing, is there?"

At least Smokescreen had the decency to look abashed. Mirage smirked internally. A plan was beginning to form in his processor. Oh, they were going to be _so_ sorry.

"Uh, you're OK with this, Mirage?" Hound sounded dubious.

"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?" Mirage held Hound's gaze a moment longer than necessary. Trust Hound to have a fit of gallantry and ruin his plan! Hound looked confused, and he lifted one of his brow plates slightly at Mirage.

"So, we still need another player. Hound? How about it?" Smokescreen asked as the rest of the mechs proceeded to a new, more central table. Mirage was glad to see that the movement was attracting more attention. The more optics that were on them, the better this would work. He grabbed a half-full energon cube that had been abandoned on a table as he walked by.

"Uh, what's the game again?"

"You see it's very simple, Hound." Smokescreen threw a friendly arm around Hound's shoulders. "You simply bounce the nuts on the table, and try to get them in the little energon cube. If you miss, you have to consume the entire cube. We all put in one chit each round. If you win that round, you get to keep them all. If there's a tie, the first one to miss loses. If you can't finish the cube, you're out. No pouring it on the floor, or anything like that either. It has to be consumed."

Hound nodded and looked around at the circle of mechs.

"Come play, Hound," Mirage cooed. "Don't you want to win my chits?" He wrapped his arms around Hound's shoulders and gave him a petulant look that would normally convince Hound to do anything Mirage wanted. Frag it, Hound was going to ruin _everything_. Mirage started coming up with a contingency plan.

Laughing quietly, Hound grabbed Mirage's arms and pushed them away. "You're certainly having a good time, aren't you, Mirage?"

Perhaps he had been playing up the 'overcharged' bit too much. "_Please_, Hound?" Mirage leaned against Hound's chest and looked up into his optics. One hand lifted to toy with Hound's winch and cable absently. He was rewarded by Hound's struts suddenly tensing and smiled. Mirage leaned forward, placing his mouth gently against Hound's audio receptor. "Do you know what I would do if you had a _big_ pile of chits, Hound?"

Hound made a low, harsh noise as Mirage flipped the pawl on his winch.

"You could make an appointment that lasts for _days_." Mirage slowly pulled the cable out a little way.

Hound's shoulder wheels twitched.

"I would touch you _everywhere_, Hound, so slowly, your wheels, your interior," here Mirage lowered his voice even more, pulled the cable out farther, and released a puff of air from his vents as he continued, "I'd ride your spike, for so long, I'd never want to stop. I want to use my _mouth_ on you, Hound."

He released the cable, and Hound gave a strangled groan as the spring mechanism on the winch retracted it suddenly. Mirage noticed that Hound's fans were running and one hand was holding onto Mirage's hip tightly, almost denting his plating. Hmm, perhaps he had pushed a little _too_ far.

"Mm, I'll have to decline, Mirage." With a visible effort, Hound mastered himself and again brought his hands up to push Mirage away. "I have to get some recharge soon anyway," he said with a gentle smile.

"But Hound, I _know_ you'll win!" Mirage was becoming frustrated. He didn't dare talk to Hound on a private frequency. With so much attention on them, the others were sure to pick up the fact that Mirage was transmitting and become suspicious. That would throw his whole scheme into disarray.

"Well, if Hound won't, I will." Trailbreaker took the empty place at the table.

"Suit yourself, Trailbreaker, but I know better than to gamble in one of Smokescreen's games."

"Hound!" Smokescreen looked affronted. "Are you saying that I set up _crooked_ games?"

"No, I'm saying that you don't think about with _whom_ you set up games."

"Oh, you're just being a - a" Mirage struggled for the human expression. "a soggy tarp!"

Hound laughed again, louder this time. "I think the term is 'wet blanket'. Now, you have fun, Mirage." Hound leaned in for a quick kiss before pulling away and leaving the little group. Mirage huffed in frustration, before turning back to the table, where the mechs were waiting expectantly. By now, every mech at the party was watching the tableau, fascinated. Oh well – let it never be said that he couldn't work with what he was given.

"What's the delay, gentlemechs? I thought you were going to _play_." Mirage motioned with the hand holding the half empty cube of energon, and the players turned towards the table, ready to begin in earnest.

"Sideswipe," Mirage rested a hand on Sideswipe's shoulder. "Why don't you start?"

Sideswipe grinned up at Mirage before turning and taking aim. Just as he released the nut, Mirage extended a digit and caressed one of Sideswipe's helm sensors.

The nut didn't come anywhere close to the cube.

"Charge up Sideswipe!" Huffer heckled from the sidelines.

With a suspicious glance at Mirage, Sideswipe grabbed the miniature cube and downed it.

"Can't feel a thing," he boasted, refilling and replacing the cube.

Windcharger rolled his optics, and grabbed a nut off the pile. He was more deliberate than Sideswipe, lining up his aim with the cube very deliberately. Mirage started to move away from Sideswipe – he wasn't too concerned about Windcharger – the minibot's optics were dimming and glowing in a random pattern, a sure sign of being overcharged. Actually, that reminded him – Mirage initiated a subroutine to make his optics flicker in the same way.

Sure enough, Windcharger's attempt went wide, and Mirage actually had to dodge out of the way as Windcharger's wild throw sailed past him.

Unfortunately for Windcharger, the contents of the energon cube were the last thing he needed. After he consumed the cube, he looked decidedly unsteady.

Next was Smokescreen. With what he undoubtedly thought was a rakish smile at Mirage, Smokescreen took aim. Mirage smiled back lifted his cube in a mock toast to Smokescreen – and spilled some down his chest plating.

"Oh, dear!" Mirage lifted a hand and trailed a finger through the energon, positioning himself directly in Smokescreen's line of sight.

The nut bounced on the rim of the cube, before skittering across the table. Mirage ignored it, pretending to have all of his attention on the purple liquid now dribbling over his front. He looked across the table at Sideswipe as Smokescreen downed and replenished the cube, and Bluestreak took aim. Sideswipe stared slack jawed at Mirage as he lifted his hand and placed the energon-covered digit between his lips.

_Ting - plunk!_

Mirage turned, startled, at the sound of a nut landing squarely in the energon cube. A hum of admiration and speculation rose from the crowd.

"Nice shot, Bluestreak, you show 'em how it's done," murmured Ironhide, clapping Bluestreak on the shoulder strut. Bluestreak grinned up at Ironhide triumphantly. However, when he caught Mirage's gaze, he immediately looked down at the tabletop, doors twitching in embarrassment.

Smokescreen's mouth twisted into a sour grimace.

"I guess it's up to me to give you a challenge," said Trailbreaker, selecting a nut. Mirage still held Sideswipe's gaze as he licked and sucked the energon off of his fingers.

There was a gasp and then sigh of disappointment from the gathered crowed when Trailbreaker's nut actually rolled along the rim of the cube before tipping off and landing on the table.

"First round goes to Bluestreak! Pay up!" shouted Ironhide. With some grumbling, the other players each slid one of their chits over to Bluestreak.

The second round began.

Or, rather, it began after Sideswipe was cuffed over the head by Sunstreaker and stopped staring at Mirage and remembered he had a game to play.

Sideswipe carefully lined up his pitch.

Mirage pulled a polishing cloth from his subspace and ran it over his nosecone to remove the last traces of energon from his plating.

As Sideswipe released the nut, Mirage gave a moan of pleasure as he ran the cloth over his anterior sensor grid.

Brawn let out a colorful curse and jumped out of the way of the nut as it whizzed by into the crowd.

Mirage caught Ironhide smirking at him and copied Sideswipe's little winking trick at him. The game continued, Windcharger was eliminated in the next round, his comparatively more efficient systems unable to handle the sheer volume of high grade he was consuming. In the third, Trailbreaker actually managed to best Bluestreak after a volley of deadly accurate throws. However, the little pile of chits in front of Bluestreak continued to grow, and the other mechs at the table continued to become more and more overcharged.

Mirage lifted the half-cube of energon to his lips to hide a smug smile, but did not drink. It was time to get serious.

When Smokescreen's turn came up next, Mirage sauntered up beside him.

"You don't seem to be doing too well, Smokescreen," Mirage whispered into Smokescreen's audio. He leaned over and draped his arms around Smokescreen's shoulders. "Maybe I should give you something for luck?"

Smokescreen's vocoder let out a strangled gurgle as one of Mirage's hands dropped to his panel and traced over the seams.

"M-Mirage, please, I c-can't-"

"C'mon, Smokey, time's a-wastin'!" Jazz called out from the crowd of observers.

Smokescreen lifted a shaking arm and threw. The pitch didn't come anywhere _near_ the cube.

"Oh, that's too bad, and your chits are almost gone, too," said Mirage as he ceased fondling Smokescreen and stood to move next to Trailbreaker.

Trailbreaker gave him a knowing smile. "Do your worst Mirage," he said quietly. Mirage smiled and started fondling the long pipe that supported Trailbreaker's forcefield generator. "Mmm," Trailbreaker gave a low rumble of pleasure, before mastering himself and aiming when Smokescreen had replaced the cube.

The nut landed squarely in the center of the cube.

"Nice work," Mirage whispered to Trailbreaker.

"Don't I get something for that?" Trailbreaker teased back.

"Oh, if you insist." Mirage turned Trailbreaker's face and kissed him, smiling at the whoops and laughter from the mechs observing. "Don't lose all your chits," said Mirage as they broke apart.

"Don't worry – I think we're almost done." Trailbreaker squeezed his hand as Mirage moved away and approached Bluestreak.

Bluestreak seemed to be concentrating solely on evaluating his nuts – examining them, weighing them in his hands, and then setting aside those selected according to some criteria only he was aware of. The only other time Mirage had seen him so serious and, well, _quiet_ was before a sharp-shooting competition or a battle.

Mirage sat on the edge of the table. Bluestreak continued sorting out his nuts.

"I'm waiting, Bluestreak," said Mirage in his most sultry voice. Bluestreak jumped in surprise, looking up at Mirage with a stunned expression on his face, and ruining his neat line of nuts in the process.

"Oh – oh! Uh, hi, Mirage, I uh, I'll throw, don't worry." Bluestreak quickly grabbed one of the nuts and held it up, before looking back up at Mirage.

Mirage just smiled at him, opened his legs a little, and released the catches on the armor panel covering his interface array.

Bluestreak trembled, but then visibly steeled himself, and threw. The nut bounced off of the rim of the cube, but landed in the energon. Bluestreak sagged in relief.

"That was a _wonderful_ throw." Mirage trailed a hand over Bluestreak's helm as he moved back over to Trailbreaker. Bluestreak quivered almost imperceptibly under his touch.

Suddenly Mirage was stopped in his tracks. A forcefield kept him separated from Trailbreaker, who grinned cheekily at him before turning back to the cube and making his throw. The nut bounced off the table and landed neatly in the cube.

"Hmf, you're taking all the fun out it," Mirage said airily as the mechs around them laughed at Trailbreaker's solution to Mirage's interference.

Mirage approached Bluestreak from behind, lightly resting his hands on the joints and couplings that connected Bluestreak's doorwings to his back. The appendages stiffened, twitching a little as Mirage ran his hands up their leading edge.

Bluestreak held a nut in one shaking hand, but didn't make a move to throw.

"Just like I taught you, Blue." Ironhide's voice sounded from behind Mirage. "Select your target, vent, and release."

"Yes, Bluestreak," Mirage murmured in Bluestreak's audio. "Just... _release_."

"But-but," Bluestreak said as he glanced nervously around the table. He seemed to be fighting against something within himself. Finally, he threw it with far more force than was necessary, and the nut bounced over the cube, missing it entirely.

"Too bad," Mirage said against Bluestreak's helm. Bluestreak tensed even more, a feat which Mirage had thought was impossible. But looking around at the state of the other players, Mirage guessed there was only one more round to be had – two, tops. Even Trailbreaker wouldn't be able to catch up to Bluestreak's lead in that time.

Mirage stepped back a bit as Bluestreak slid one of his chits over to Trailbreaker and grabbed the cube to consume it. Moving quickly, Mirage sidled up to Sideswipe, who gave him one panicked look and threw his nut haphazardly at the table and roughly in the direction of the full energon cube that had just replaced the one Bluestreak had downed. Sideswipe grabbed the cube to drink, but only managed to down half of it before tumbling off his chair, insensate.

"I- I think we don' haff enough pl-playersh anymore," slurred Smokescreen as he attempted to fill an energon cube. Finally Trailbreaker took pity on him and placed it on the table, wiping up a little of the energon Smokescreen had spilled in the process.

Smokescreen sat silent for a few kliks, optics flickering and swaying from side to side. Trailbreaker prodded him.

"Smokescreen, aren't you going to go?" he asked.

"Of coursh! Who's t-turn ish it?" Smokescreen looked over at Trailbreaker as he spoke, giving off the distinct impression that he was clinging to his chair lest he topple out of it.

"It's _yours!_"

"Oh."

Smokescreen carefully selected his nut (though it took several grabs before he finally was able to pick it up) and then aimed.

Mirage turned on his heel and pointed at Sideswipe's last nut, which was lying on the floor in front of Ironhide, across the table from Smokescreen.

"Oh! Can't have _that_ just lying around!" trilled Mirage, as he bent over, to retrieve the nut, making sure that Smokescreen had a perfect view of his aft.

Mirage squeaked in surprise and jolted forwards into Ironhide's arms when a small hard object impacted his aft plating at high speed.

"Don't play it up too much Mirage, it'll get you in the end!" laughed Ironhide as he helped Mirage gain his pedes again.

"That had better not leave a mark," said Mirage dourly as he rubbed at the spot where Smokescreen's nut had hit him. Smokescreen, for his part, had not even been able to consume the energon, but was face down and senseless on the table, where Trailbreaker was trying to rouse him. "Don't bother, 'Breaker. I think he's out of the game."

"Doesn't seem fair that he gets out of having to drink more of that brew." Trailbreaker picked up a nut. Mirage sauntered closer to the table, and ran a hand down his nosecone, making sure to catch Trailbreaker's optics.

"Oh, I don't know about _that_," said Mirage. "Don't you think it, _goes down_ smoothly?" His hand continued down his plating, running over his interface array panel. He moaned just as Trailbreaker threw.

Trailbreaker shot a triumphant look at Mirage as the nut plunked down neatly into the energon.

Mirage pretended to take a sip of his own energon, and turned his attention to Bluestreak.

Bluestreak was looking desperately from his pile of chits to Trailbreaker's more modest collection. Mirage didn't know why he was so nervous – even if Trailbreaker won this round, Bluestreak would be the clear over-all winner. While Smokescreen had probably thought that the chits would be used later, Mirage began mulling over the idea of putting one or two to _immediate_ use. Sunstreaker had almost revived Sideswipe, and Smokescreen would probably find himself able to rouse if given the proper stimulus...

Mirage moved next to Bluestreak, and pressed up against his side. "Mmm, Blue, I think you're going to win-"

"A-am I? Because if Sunstreaker can get Sideswipe up I think we could keep playing, even with only three mechs and I'm having a g-great time and I'd l-like to kee-eep!" Mirage moved his finger slowly, carefully tracing the outline of the headlight he had just fondled.

"But _I'd_ like to play something, Bluestreak," Mirage said against Bluestreak's audio, "I'd like to reward you for winning."

Bluestreak clutched the nut in his hand, before making his throw – it was a half sparked effort, to Mirage's eye, but he supposed Bluestreak must have been feeling the effects of the energon finally. The nut bounced off the rim of the cube harmlessly.

"Well, I guess that's that!" Trailbreaker clapped Bluestreak on the arm. "I won the battle but lost the war!" He moved the chit he had in play over to Bluestreak. Bluestreak took it like one in a trance.

"Yes, Bluestreak, you've certainly proven your skill." Mirage smiled at Bluestreak as he sat on the edge of the table. Moving carefully so as not to break optic-contact with Bluestreak, Mirage reclined on his side, making sure to keep his panel exposed. "Congratulations," said Mirage as he lifted his half-cube of high grade towards Bluestreak. He downed the rest of it in one deep draught. But his cache was coming up curiously empty with what Bluestreak liked during their sessions.

The extra bit of high-grade was all it took to tip his systems into safe-mode. Mirage immediately felt a pleasant fuzziness overtake his processor – he knew he'd had a plan, and that plan involved getting Bluestreak up on the table to 'face Mirage senseless. Yes, that would be _very_ nice. And it had been so long since he'd had the opportunity to, well, _perform_ for such a large audience.

Mirage reached out and grabbed Bluestreak's arm, running his hand up and down the plating. Bluestreak tried to pull his hand away, but Mirage grabbed onto it, holding him in place.

"Bluestreak," purred Mirage. "Would you like to use one of your new chits right now?" Smokescreen, face still buried on the table, let out a low moan, but it was swallowed up by the swell of approving noise that the other 'Bots present generated at Mirage's suggestion.

"Here? Now? I d-don't think-"

"C'mon, Bluestreak!" Sunstreaker said in that overly loud and jolly voice of someone thoroughly overcharged. "Claim your prize!"

"Uh, Sunstreaker I don't think I want to claim it here actually, Mirage, why don't we do it next week or maybe even in a month-"

"It's no problem, Bluestreak, my schedule's open _right now_," said Mirage as he reclined on the table and extended a hand.

"Among other things," Sideswipe moaned as he managed to sit up.

Ironhide gave Sideswipe a swat on the back of the helm for his impertinence.

Bluestreak was braced against the table now, leaning back while Mirage pulled at him. Mirage was becoming increasingly frustrated, both with Bluestreak and with his cache. Query after query was coming up blank for sessions with Bluestreak, and it was so hard to _think_ with the extra high grade and the cat calls from the audience stealing his attention.

"Don't be bashful!" Sunstreaker was now pushing Bluestreak, practically lifting him bodily in an attempt to get him up on the table with Mirage.

"N-no, Sunstreaker, _please_," Bluestreak begged.

Suddenly Mirage had a realization: Bluestreak had _never_ made an appointment with him. Mirage didn't keep track of who did and who didn't decide to spend time with him; if a 'Bot felt he wasn't getting a fair shot at appointments, he would simply come to Mirage personally to work out a schedule, and Mirage was so busy that he had simply _never noticed_ that Bluestreak hadn't.

Looking into Bluestreak's panicked face; Mirage didn't know how he could have mistaken Bluestreak's fear and mortification for competition jitters. He sat up and released Bluestreak's hand.

"Sunstreaker, wait," Mirage began.

"_What is going on here?!_" Immediately all noise and activity stopped as Ratchet's voice boomed out over the crowd. Ratchet was tall for an Autobot, and easily made his way through the gathered mechs, to where Bluestreak and Mirage were frozen. Sunstreaker, undeterred, continued trying to give Bluestreak a leg up onto the table.

Ratchet looked from Mirage to Bluestreak to Mirage again. At that moment, Mirage had never felt so small – was there any way to get out of this situation with Bluestreak's dignity intact?

"Gerrup, Bluestreak, you act like you've never done this before!"

Apparently not.

Moving quickly, Mirage surged forward and pushed Sunstreaker hard, sending him stumbling back.

"Mirage, what's-" Sunstreaker cut off when he looked at Bluestreak. "You _haven't_? _Really?_"

"Sunstreaker, that is enough." Ratchet put himself in between Sunstreaker and Bluestreak, and continued castigating Sunstreaker. Mirage wanted to say something, anything to make it up to Bluestreak, but the poor mech looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor plating. "-and what business is it of yours what somemech chooses to do with their chits?" Ratchet turned and grabbed Bluestreak's shoulder, steering him away from Mirage. "I'll talk to you later."

Mirage jumped off the table and followed them out, through the crowd of now silent mechs. As he reached the door, he turned and hissed, "If _anyone_ says _anything_ to Bluestreak about this, or in any_way_ makes fun of him, they will _never_ make an appointment with me again. _Is that clear?_" Mirage waited until he could see that most mechs present were nodding, then he too opened the door and dashed into the hallway outside.

Ratchet and Bluestreak were talking quietly in the hall a little ways down. Mirage hurried towards them, but checked himself when Ratchet looked up and glared at him. The sudden start and stop made his overcharged circuits dizzy, but Mirage thought he could bear through it, and approached at a more cautious pace.

"Well, what do you have to say?" Ratchet said sharply.

"Bluestreak, I- I'm so sorry, I didn't realize. If I had known, I would _never_ have put you in that position. I was so caught up in teaching Sideswipe and Smokescreen a lesson, I didn't even think about you."

"It's alright Mirage," said Bluestreak to the floor. "It – it's not like it's a big deal anyways, right? I'm sorry I won all your chits. I just wanted to win because I knew I could, but I'll give them to 'Bots who will use them. I know you've been having trouble getting together with Hound maybe he'd trade some shifts for them or-"

"Why don't you want to use them?" asked Ratchet.

Bluestreak looked up at that. "I want to!" he protested, before shutting his mouth with a snap and looking back at the floor.

"Then why don't you?" Mirage said quietly. Bluestreak mumbled something Mirage couldn't quite pick up. "What was that?"

"'M scared." Bluestreak was an image of abject misery. "I-I've seen you with other mechs, and I've heard them talking. What if – what if I'm terrible at it?"

Mirage smiled reassuringly at Bluestreak and slipped an arm around him. "Is that all you're worried about? You don't have to be scared – and nobody's perfect the first time." With his arm around Bluestreak, he could feel the vibration of a cooling fan working deep in Bluestreak's chassis, and feel the tell-tale increased temperature of Bluestreak's plating. Even though he was embarrassed and frightened, Bluestreak had been aroused by the game. "Would you still like to have an appointment now? Somewhere more private?"

Bluestreak nodded.

Ratchet looked dubiously from Mirage to Bluestreak, but asked, "Bluestreak, you don't have to say yes if you don't want to. And I can't believe I'm having to give this lecture to _Mirage_, but don't you dare push him to do anything he's not ready for."

"I won't, Ratchet. Don't worry." Mirage smiled as he grabbed Bluestreak's hand and steered him down the corridor. "Will we need to kick anyone out of your room?" Mirage asked Bluestreak when they had gone around the first corner.

"No, Cliffjumper is still off on the extended patrol and won't be back until next Wednesday."

"Good." Mirage smiled at Bluestreak, noticing that the hand that held his was holding on tightly and trembling. "Don't worry." Mirage shook Bluestreak's hand a bit, until his arm hydraulics depressurized a bit. "_Relax._"

Bluestreak just gave him a thin smile.

When they reached the door, Mirage stood back and let Bluestreak punch in the code to open it. Bluestreak stood back to let Mirage in first, and Mirage took the opportunity to give Bluestreak a quick kiss as he walked by into the room. He was rewarded by a quick hitch of Bluestreak's intakes. Mirage held Bluestreak's gaze for a bare astrosecond, before continuing on into the room and sitting on Bluestreak's berth. He sent a signal to the lighting units in the room to dim to a more... atmospheric setting.

Bluestreak sat down in his desk chair.

"Bluestreak," Mirage said softly. "Don't you want to sit by me?" He smiled and patted the berth.

"Oh it's fine Mirage, you can have the berth to sit on. My chair is very comfortable and I don't mind sitting on it, in fact sometimes-"

"Bluestreak, we're going to have to touch each other at some point, so why don't you sit on the berth with me?" Mirage reclined on the berth, and stroked his hand over its plating invitingly.

Bluestreak stared at where Mirage was touching the berth for a few moments, and then quickly (as if he was afraid he would lose his nerve) crossed the small distance and sat next to Mirage. His backstrut was ramrod straight, and every joint and wire on his frame radiated tension.

"What-what should I do?" Bluestreak stared at the opposite wall.

"You can start by _looking_ at me." Mirage reached out and turned Bluestreak's head to face him. "And then we can talk."

"Ab-bout what?"

"You said you've wanted to make an appointment, so why don't we talk about what you've wanted to do with me?"

Bluestreak immediately looked away, his door-wings twitching in embarrassment.

"Mirage, I – I don't think you'd want to know. Y-you'd laugh at me!"

Mirage held back a snicker. If only Bluestreak knew what desires his shipmates confessed to Mirage! "I can guarantee you, Bluestreak, I have heard it _all_. I won't laugh, and I won't judge. But why don't we start small…" Mirage turned onto his back and stretched, lifting his knees and spreading them a bit, and then lifted his arms above his head.

Bluestreak watched him warily.

"Haven't you ever wanted to touch me?"

Bluestreak nodded.

"Well, then."

"Anywhere?" Bluestreak's voice was tremulous and crackled with static.

Mirage smiled and nodded. At first, Bluestreak seemed spoiled for choice; he made a few hesitant starts towards various parts of Mirage's body, but then snatched his hand back. Mirage reached out and grabbed it.

"Would you like me to show you where I like to be touched, Bluestreak?" When Bluestreak nodded, Mirage guided Bluestreak's hand to his nosecone. "I like to be touched _here_," said Mirage. He moved Bluestreak's hand to run along the winglets that flanked his nosecone. "And here, _oh_-" Mirage gave a low moan when Bluestreak pinched the winglet under his hand. "Please, Bluestreak, more," Mirage said when Bluestreak made as if to pull away.

"I-it feels good?" Bluestreak returned his hands to the winglets, rubbing and stroking them. His touches were clumsy, but there was an endearing innocence about them, too.

"It feels _so_ good-" Mirage broke off for another moan when one of Bluestreak's hands strayed along the lateral groove of his nosecone. "Please, where do you like to be touched? Tell me."

"My helm," Bluestreak whispered, leaning close. Mirage obligingly ran his hand up and over the chevron that adorned Bluestreak's helm. It wasn't as thin and delicate as Prowl's and Smokescreen's were, but that just gave him more real estate to play with. Bluestreak shuddered and his engine revved harshly when Mirage trailed a finger along the top edge of the chevron. Immediately Bluestreak controlled his engine, and shot an embarrassed look at Mirage.

"Don't be embarrassed, Bluestreak, it happens to everyone. It's _supposed_ to happen. It means you're having a good time." Mirage trailed a hand down Bluestreak's face, and over his hood. He stopped, resting his hand over the Autobot symbol adorning Bluestreak's hood.

Vents cycling heavily, Bluestreak scooted forwards a bit, and reached for Mirage's sensor nexus.

"Mmm, yes, _Bluestreak_." Mirage switched off his optics and slowly rocked his head to and fro as Bluestreak stroked the red and blue grid.

Mirage's hand found Bluestreak's headlight, and cupped it briefly, before tracing the edge with one fingertip. Bluestreak stiffened, shutting off his optics and groaning. The temperature of the plating beneath Mirage's hand jumped up a few more degrees.

When Mirage retracted the plating over his valve, Bluestreak froze.

"This will be easier if you can see what you are doing," Mirage said after a klik passed and Bluestreak's optics were still offline.

When Bluestreak turned on his optics, his vents hitched and his optics focused between Mirage's legs. Mirage smiled to himself. He knew his components were expertly manufactured, but it was always nice to-

"It doesn't look like the pictures on my holo-pads."

"What?"

"In the pictures valves are more round. Yours is-"

"Mine is _custom_," Mirage replied, a bit affronted. "I suppose the stock repair references must have images of models that are _inferior_ in make."

"But... but the data tracks I read said that the sensor cluster midway down the rim is most sensitive and the best way to give a partner with a valve an overload and I don't even think you _have_ one-"

Mirage covered his face with his hands and groaned. "Please tell me all of your ideas on interfacing are _not_ from those disgusting image-pads Smokescreen peddles."

Bluestreak remained silent, staring at him with wide, round optics. Mirage sighed.

"Alright," he said, as he hefted himself up, so that he was sitting up and leaning against the wall at the head of the berth. "I can see I've got some misinformation to undo. Come closer." Mirage motioned Bluestreak over as he lifted his knees and spread his legs. Bluestreak climbed fully onto the berth and knelt at Mirage's feet.

"Now, you can forget about anything you've read on those silly things," said Mirage. "While occasionally...diverting... they offer a very unrealistic view of interfacing, and because the owner of the largest ero-vid company... _preferred_ a certain look in his partners, that's what is portrayed in the vids. His company was the most successful, so everyone copied him."

"Really?" asked Bluestreak. "Umm, how do you know all this?"

"Well, being as he became very, _very_ wealthy from his little empire, he lived in the Towers. That was how I became somewhat familiar with the whole sordid industry. The mech had no sense of propriety and would blather on and on about his business. What?" Mirage asked, seeing the amused look on Bluestreak's face.

"Oh, nothing."

"Alright, then." Mirage centered himself, starting to reclaim his earlier, interrupted ardor. Fortunately, judging by the sound of the fans coming from his chassis, Bluestreak did not have that problem. "Now," Mirage continued, lowering his voice to its former seductive lilt. "My interfacing array houses both a spike and a valve. The valve is posterior to the spike, so it's angled a bit, to accommodate that and to ease penetration." Mirage reached out and took hold of Bluestreak's hand, and guided it to his interface array. "Would you like to feel for yourself?"

Bluestreak nodded and pushed one digit inside. Mirage hissed in discomfort.

"Gently, Bluestreak!"

"Sorry, sorry," Bluestreak ceased pushing and rotated his digit a bit to better fit into the oblong opening.

"_Mmmm._" Mirage let his head fall back at the sensation. "That feels so good. Can you feel the angle at which the channel is set?"

"Yes," Bluestreak's voice was thick with static.

"That's the angle you'll need to match. Can you feel the chucks?" Bluestreak nodded. "You can move if you like. But be gentle – valves have more surface area devoted to sensory receptors than spikes."

"What?"

"Move your hand, _please_."

Bluestreak did so, tentatively at first, but as Mirage kept groaning in obvious pleasure, his hesitation gave way to more confident touches. When Bluestreak finally worked up the nerve to use his other hand on Mirage's external sensors, Mirage's fans kicked on.

"What-what do those lines around the outside mean, Mirage?" Bluestreak's voice was husky. Mirage thought he should have been annoyed, but the curiosity was sort of cute.

"They're -_ah_\- decoration, Bluestreak. The scrolls are a trademark of the mech who designed my valve. His name was Spanner, and he was -_uh- not so hard-_ the best. All hand-tooled and each one is unique." Now reasonably worked up, Mirage was finding Bluestreak's fascination with the more...academic aspects of interfacing to be counter-productive. He pushed Bluestreak's hand away. "It's _your_ turn now." Mirage pulled Bluestreak's hand up to his mouth, and took the digits that had been in his valve into his mouth.

Bluestreak whimpered.

Slowly, Mirage drew them out of his mouth, as he locked optics with Bluestreak.

Bluestreak trembled.

Moving back down the berth so that he was reclining on his back, Mirage reached up and urged Bluestreak to join him. Bluestreak did so, but he reclined on his side a bit awkwardly due to his doors. Mirage canted his body towards Bluestreak, and laced his fingers through Bluestreak's, gently tugging him closer.

"Relax," Mirage crooned. "You're doing wonderfully." He ran his other hand down Bluestreak's chest and abdominal armor, until he got to the panel that covered Bluestreak's spike. Bluestreak's fans were going full force by now, and when Mirage traced around the armor panel's seem with one fingertip, his engine revved harshly. "Open for me? Please?" whispered Mirage into Bluestreak's audio as he mouthed Bluestreak's neck and slipped his glossa into the narrow crevice between the edge of Bluestreak's helm and plating.

"Mm-mm-mirage," Bluestreak gasped. He clutched at Mirage's shoulder wheels when Mirage let go of his hand to fondle the couplings at the base of his door wings. The feel of his fingers gripping his wheels made Mirage's engine turn over, and the heat in his circuits increased. After so many overloads in this cycle, it was going to take a bit longer to climax again, but Mirage was already well on his way.

The click of Bluestreak's latches releasing was almost hesitant, but his spike extended almost immediately. Gently, carefully, Mirage curled his fingers around it, touch light and soft. Bluestreak gave a small cry and pressed into him, catching Mirage in a tight embrace. His pelvic unit moved back and forth twice, and he was so tightly wound he quivered.

"It's wonderful, Bluestreak," Mirage murmured, as he slowly stroked the spike in his hand from base to tip. He nudged Bluestreak's head. "Talk to me, what are you thinking?"

"_Nnngh_-" Bluestreak's voice was tight. "It never feels this good when _I_ do it. Bluestreak lifted his head and looked into Mirage's optics. "I w-want to make you feel good too."

"Mmm, touch my vents, _please_, it feels -_ooooh, yes!_" Now it was Mirage's turn to shake in ecstasy as one of Bluestreak's hands ran down the vents that framed his face. Mirage's core temperature peaked. "Bluestreak, quickly, please," Mirage said as he moved his hand back down Bluestreak's spike. "I want to feel you in me, feel your spike in me-" Even as he was begging Bluestreak, Mirage wriggled and pushed and pulled and yielded until he was beneath Bluestreak.

"M-Mirage, I don't know what-"

"_Shhh_." Mirage silenced Bluestreak with a kiss. This shocked Bluestreak into stillness long enough for Mirage to lift his legs and wrap them around Bluestreak's waist, and then to guide his spike into his valve. The angle wasn't quite right and he suffered a pinch as Bluestreak scraped along a seam in his valve's wall, but the slight pain only served to sharpen his focus on the wonderful sensations.

The feel of Bluestreak against him, in him, and the wonderful little noises he was making were all burring together for Mirage, and he would overload soon, and he switched off his optics He just needed Bluestreak to go deeper, just a little more and -

Bluestreak yelled in his audio, bucked sharply against Mirage and his hot release flooded Mirage's valve.

Mirage snapped on his optics, but all he could see was the gray expanse of Bluestreak's door-wing above him. Bluestreak had his face buried in Mirage's neck, and was shuddering, clutching at him desperately. Mirage lifted one arm up to awkwardly pat Bluestreak's helm.

"Oh, _Mirage_." Bluestreak's voice was interrupted by bursts of static and squeals of feedback – a sign of intense emotional release. "That was wonderful, it was beautiful, it was so beautiful, thank you-"

"You- you're welcome." Mirage said automatically, aeons of instruction in good manners making him reply out of habit.

Slaggit. His plating was _crawling_ he was so worked up. At least he had been able to keep his annoyance out of his voice. That would have _crushed_ Bluestreak.

They stayed that way for several kliks, until Bluestreak's shaking finally subsided and he pulled away from Mirage and sat up. "I," Bluestreak's voice broke into static as he tried to speak. "I suppose you want to go back to your own quarters now."

"Oh, don't be so quick to get rid of me," Mirage said through clenched denta, though his tone was solicitous. He sat up as well and draped his arms over Bluestreak's shoulders. Bluestreak's optics widened when Mirage nibbled on a seam on his neck-plating.

"You... want to... again?"

"Mmm-hmmm." Mirage settled for a largely non-verbal answer as his mouth was otherwise occupied. When Bluestreak pressed into him, Mirage quickly moved out of the way, using a grappling move Ironhide had taught him to twist around and bear Bluestreak down to the berth. Mirage straddled Bluestreak's hips, intent on getting down to business so that Bluestreak would be less likely to leave him behind this time.

"Oof – Mirage!" By the way the plating under his hand jumped up a few degrees in temperature, Bluestreak found the roughhousing just as arousing as the earlier tenderness. Taking some pity on him, Mirage bent his elbows and kissed Bluestreak tenderly. This time Bluestreak responded a bit, though his technique was still more eager than skilled. Mirage had to with draw quickly to avoid his lip-plating being bitten.

Then he was kneeling and lifting his pelvic unit and Bluestreak's spike was extending beneath him, and Mirage was impaling himself on it, making genuine noises of pleasure and ecstasy. Mirage held Bluestreak's shoulders to the berth as he pumped his pelvic unit, vents heaving in time with his movements. Bluestreak reached up and gripped his shoulder wheels, locking gazes with Mirage.

"Ungh, M-m-mira-ge," panted Bluestreak. "Oh - _oh_ \- it's-" Bluestreak didn't finish as his vocoder reset and his voice faded into static.

Mirage pursued his overload with single-minded determination. When it finally shivered through his circuits, he stiffened for a bare moment, optics going dark. He could dimly hear Bluestreak moaning as he felt Mirage's valve clench and release his spike. Mirage's systems reset quickly, and with his overload out of the way he was free to see to Bluestreak's pleasure.

His rhythm slowed a bit, and his motion became more gentle and fluid. Bluestreak cried out and climaxed a second time when Mirage reached down and tweaked the edge of his chevron. As Bluestreak's systems reset, his spike also retracted, and Mirage carefully dismounted. He winced at the pings and pops that accompanied his movements – his joints could use some fresh grease, especially after all of the activity he'd engaged in today.

Mirage settled himself next to Bluestreak, and waited for him to reboot. _Poor thing,_ he thought. _He doesn't know how to keep back some charge yet. Oh well, he'll learn._ Mirage found Bluestreak's hand and held it, while gently cradling Bluestreak's helm against his shoulder.

The first thing Bluestreak did when he on-lined was to pull Mirage into an uncomfortably tight embrace. His whole body shook and quivered as he held Mirage, and when Mirage wrapped his arms around Bluestreak's chassis and returned the hug, Bluestreak seemed to try to hold Mirage even closer.

It took Mirage a few nanokliks to realize Bluestreak was talking.

"...leave, please, don't leave me..."

"Bluestreak, I'm not leaving, shhh," he soothed, stroking Bluestreak's helm tenderly. Mirage pressed a kiss to Bluestreak's chevron.

They stayed that way until Bluestreak stopped shaking and his systems fell into a true recharge. Mirage continued stroking his helm absently, indulging in a bit of contemplation about the night's events before letting his own recharge cycle start.

_Does everyone think my valve looks... _odd_? I know it doesn't look like the models in the vids, but then, they all have stock components. Has everyone just been too polite to say anything?_ Mirage's processor worried over the problem for a few more kliks, but he finally gave it up as a waste of time and settled into his recharge cycle.

* * *

_"Jazz to Mirage, report to the main entrace, code 14-159."_

Mirage was jolted out of his cycle by the encrypted transmission. It meant that he was needed for a top-secret mission _immediately_. He carefully disentangled himself from Bluestreak's arms and slipped out of the berth quietly.

_"Mirage to Jazz, I'm not in my quarters, will I need my rocket launcher?"_ As he answered Jazz Mirage leaned over Bluestreak and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

_"I have everything you'll need with me."_

Bluestreak didn't come out of recharge, but his lips puckered and relaxed in reaction to Mirage's kiss.

_"Understood."_

Mirage stepped silently into the hallway outside, locking the door behind him.


	6. Runaround Sue (Mirage/Jazz/Wheeljack/Trailbreaker/Grapple/Bumblebee; Gangbang)

Rain drops spattered over Mirage's chassis as he drove as fast as he dared along the slick road that led to the _Ark_. _Two and a half weeks._ He had been gone for two and a half human weeks and of course he would be coming back just as the first rain of winter fell, lifting the residue from the summer's travelers from the asphalt, and making large, oily puddles on the ground that Mirage had to splash through.

_Nice. Slagging fantastic,_ thought Mirage as he misjudged the extent of one puddle and a muddy flume of water was sent into the air, further defiling his white and blue paint. Throwing caution to the wind, Mirage gunned his engine, speed climbing. All he wanted was to be back in the _Ark_, to be back home among friends.

Two and a half weeks ago, the Decepticons had pulled off a very coordinated raid, and (along with the expected energon) had absconded with a seemingly disparate assortment of supplies and equipment. The Autobots couldn't take the chance that Megatron was planning on building some sort of doomsday device (again) and Mirage had been dispatched to investigate (again).

It was always something of an adjustment, going out into the field on a solo mission. On the _Ark_, Mirage was, well, _waited_ upon. Favors he asked for were never turned down, and the others sought out his company. If he wanted someone to wax him, he had only to drop a vague hint and at least three mechs would be fighting for the chance. In the field, he had to keep his electrodisruptor on _all the time_, had no one to talk to, and no one to help him scrub away the annoying grit and oxidation that festered in the salt-heavy air on board the underwater _Victory_.

_Finally._ Mirage rounded a bend, and saw the _Ark_ ahead. The road was straight and true from here, and he maximized his speed, racing home.

When he reached the entrance overhang, Mirage transformed in a practiced motion his wheels leaving the wet pavement an instant before his pedes hit the clean, dry plating of the entrance. It was a flashy move, and it never failed to get appreciation from any mechs who happened to-

There was no one in the entryway.

Mirage suppressed a huff of annoyance. He had radioed Jazz as soon as he was clear of Decepticon territory, and usually word spread like wildfire when he was coming back on base, and there was always a bit of a welcome-back committee.

_"Mirage to Jazz. I'm back in the _Ark_."_

"Jazz here. Get cleaned off and some energon in your tanks, then come to meeting room 2-1 to report."

"Acknowledged." Mirage shut off the comm and trudged for the rec room to grab a cube of energon. There was sure to be someone there who would help in the 'racks. Mirage allowed himself to fantasize a bit about how nice those hands would feel moving over his plating, how thrilling the almost-pain sensation of a wire brush scrubbing away at _every_ coupling on his back would be, how-

The rec room was completely deserted. Mirage looked around in bemusement. It _was_ mid-shift, during the day, so most mechs _would_ be on duty, but there still should have been _someone_ here. His mood turning blacker by the nanoklik, Mirage trudged across the room and poured himself a modest portion of energon. Downing it in one long pull, he dispersed the cube and stomped out of the rec room.

Mirage had been looking forward to perhaps having a quick session with whomever he could in the 'racks before reporting. It had been _two and a half weeks_. For a mech as accustomed to regular and frequent overloads as Mirage, it was _torture_. Why was Jazz in such a Primus-damned _hurry_ to have a debriefing after all? If he had more time, Mirage could have simply posted an _Ark_ wide announcement that he wanted to be fragged _hard_, right _now_ to the intra-_Ark_ datanet, but Jazz would likely frown on Mirage delaying his appearance for that.

But maybe there would be someone in the-

As the doors to the wash-rack slid open, Mirage saw that they were distressingly empty. Holding back a very impolite word, Mirage set about scrubbing himself down and sluicing himself off in a businesslike manner.

Mirage attempted to gain a more professional state of mind as he made his way to the meeting room Jazz had specified but he was only nominally successful.

When the meeting room's door opened in response to his code, a varied assortment of mechs greeted him.

"Mirage," Jazz said from the head of the table, gesturing towards the vacant seat. Mirage noticed a larger, cruder version of Hound's hologram projector resting on the table, aimed towards a blank wall. Hound himself was tapping some controls on the side of the device, and Wheeljack was fiddling with some internal wiring. They both looked up and Wheeljack nodded in greeting. Hound's joyful grin made Mirage's spark tighten with a not-uncomfortable feeling. Mirage quickly sat down to avoid having to face how seeing Hound after so long apart had affected him.

Grapple was activating and making notations on a well-worn datapad. Mirage recognized it as the one on which he kept the known specs of the _Victory_. Trailbreaker and Bumblebee were talking quietly, heads together, reading another datapad.

"It appears we're all here," Jazz said, calling the meeting to order. Mirage looked around, wondering why Prowl and Optimus Prime were not in attendance. "They're visiting the University of British Columbia, Mirage," Jazz answered his unspoken question. "Perceptor was invited to give a lecture about ionic energy sources, and Prime wanted to make an appearance."

Mirage nodded and smiled. He had known Jazz for so long; sometimes it seemed as if his commanding officer knew him better than Mirage knew himself.

"Let's begin. Hound, if you would?" Jazz said, motioning to Hound. Hound switched on the holo-projector, and schematic of the _Victory_ immediately appeared on the far wall. Large areas of it were still blank, or colored to indicate that what they contained was purely speculative.

"Most of the time I stayed down in the lower storage bays," Mirage said, transmitting a signal to the projector that highlighted the area. "The Constructicons have finished pumping the water out of most of them, and have converted them into workspace." Mirage manipulated the image, editing it and updating it with the intel he had gained over the past fortnight. "I also discovered that this was _not_ the isolated raid it appeared to be. It appears Megatron has been stealing items systematically for several months. The raids were low-profile enough that no one connected them to the Decepticons." Mirage uploaded images he had taken of the stolen components to the projector, and they flashed across the screen. "I'm not sure what they could be used for. Wheeljack?"

"Hmm, it appears to be components for some sort of very primitive but powerful capacitor. But what possible use could Megatron have for that?"

While Wheeljack rambled on about possible uses the various items could be put to, a new message notification popped up him Mirage's HUD. Curious, he opened it right away.

It was an appointment request. No, scratch that, it was a _joint_ appointment request. For five kliks from now.

From Jazz. And Wheeljack, Trailbreaker, Grapple, and Bumblebee.

_Those little _sneaks.

Mirage carefully kept his face expressionless, ignoring the request. When Wheeljack finished with his recitation of all the possibilities Megatron could have on his processor for the components, Mirage again began relaying the information he'd obtained, this time about the layout of the _Victory_. Grapple asked most of the questions, and the map continually changed as Mirage's new data was compared against the old. Grapple made a great show of being put out by having to revise his carefully constructed schematics of the Decepticon base.

Two kliks went by.

Mirage could tell that the others were getting... anxious to know his answer. He could see Bumblebee sneaking glances his way every so often, and Trailbreaker was looking at him with a lust-bright visor. Only Jazz seemed unaffected. Even Hound, who was not named on the request (Mirage suppressed a bit of disappointment) was looking at Mirage with an odd expression.

One klik to go.

"But what I can't figure out is why they would need an industrial chicken processor," Wheeljack interrupted Grapple's grumbling, obviously still trying to work out Megatron's motivations for the thefts. "And if they _are_ trying to make a reservoir capacitor, what will they use as a rectifier?"

Thirty nanokliks.

Now Bumblebee was staring at Mirage openly, no longer trying to hide it.

"So, what you're saying is we really have no idea what the 'Cons could have in mind for these items." Jazz's smooth voice betrayed no nervousness. He stood and paced around the table. "Come on, my mechs, let's hear your ideas. What do you think old Megs is up to?"

Ten nanokliks.

Mirage opened the request, and filed it under his "Accepted" directory.

Jazz's call for ideas had distracted the others, and they did not notice immediately.

They did not notice until Jazz stopped behind Mirage, who had quietly stood and was now bent over the table.

"I was unable to directly observe the Constructicons working with the components. The _Victory_ has several new anti-espionage measures in place, which I will outline in my written report." Mirage's tone did not change even as Jazz traced the outline of his panel and slowly slid it open. The cool air against his interfacing array made Mirage's sensor relays burn and tingle pleasantly for a moment. It had been _so long_, why wouldn't Jazz just get on with it-

"Anti-espionage measures?" One of Jazz's fingers circled teasingly around the rim of Mirage's valve. Mirage lifted his hips and spread his legs, trying to impress upon Jazz the direness of the situation.

Bumblebee opened his mouth to answer, but when he caught sight of what Jazz was doing, the words died in his vocoder. His small engine gave a high-pitched rev, and he started out of his seat.

"Put it in park, little 'Bot - it's not your turn yet." Jazz turned his attention back to the projection. "Is that why you were late at the shoreline check point?"

"Yes. The Decepticons are concentrating on stopping intruders by perimeter methods." Mirage stiffened a bit as Jazz slipped two fingers into his valve. His optics flickered for a few nanokliks as Jazz carefully stimulated the line of sensors just inside Mirage's valve. Each stroke was slow and deliberate, putting pressure in just the right spots to make Mirage's whole chassis tingle, and a wonderful heat build in his core. "Except for some new pressure-sensitive grids on the ventilation and pump systems, the interior security is still largely unchanged." When Jazz inserted another digit, Mirage was unable to hold back a groan of pleasure.

_"Oh yeah, Oh yeah,  
The moon, beautiful-"_

Mirage shot an unamused look over his shoulder at Jazz, whose speakers were the source of the burst of music. Jazz gave him a cheeky grin, but the music ceased immediately. Mirage scoffed to himself. Honestly, they were having an official _debriefing_. They may be stranded on a Primus-forsaken dirtball, but they could still be _professional_.

Jazz's hand moved from Mirage's valve to settle over his hips, and pushed his spike into Mirage's valve in one smooth motion. Tingles seemed to ripple outward from Mirage's interface array as his valve was _finally_ filled.

"Hmm, that means it's going to be harder to get in and out in the future." Jazz pushed in slowly and held himself there. "Were you able to find a route that mechs without an electrodisruptor could use?"

Mirage nodded. "There are still some ways. But they're more exposed than I would like." He could have overloaded in a handful of nanokliks considering how worked up he was, but he knew Jazz's sedate approach would yield a more satisfying overload.

Grapple studied his datapad intensely. "It looks like a few of the corridors have been widened. Is that true?"

"Makes sense," said Wheeljack. "Those 'Cons can't make passageways too narrow for us without causing trouble for themselves."

"But that means they're taking up space from the maintenance access ways," added Hound. "Right Mirage?"

"Yes, it was definitely a tighter fit in some of my bolt-holes than last time."

"Maybe they had to expand the hallways so Starscream could get his big head through." A chuckle passed through the mechs in the room at Bumblebee's joke.

"Or they had to move something big," Jazz said. "Hound, align our old schematics with the data Mirage just brought back. Have the display highlight the changes." Jazz moved his hands from Mirage's hips as he pulled his spike almost all the way out of Mirage's valve and thrust back in again. Mirage's engine quietly rumbled in contentment as Jazz stroked and fondled his wheels and shoulder couplings. "There it is," he said quietly. The corridors Hound highlighted showed several clear routes to and from the storage bays to several labs. "Those slaggers were up to something."

Jazz's touches moved from Mirage's shoulders to his cockpit, first exploring the open rim, then delving down to run over the curves and seams of the driver's seat. "But the lab they go to isn't the Constructions'," said Mirage, pointing out the feature on the screen. "Actually, I think it's Starscream's. He really only works on small, private projects in there. I've never seen him do anything that would require resources like _that_." As he finished, he laid his palms flat against the table and rested his helm between them, turning off his optics to be able to concentrate on how wonderful Jazz felt in his valve.

Jazz's motions were smooth and fluid. Slow, yes, but not so sluggish that the sensations died before the next one. They built on each other, until the churning, tingling heat flared up, and Mirage leaned back into Jazz's thrusts, hips snapping back and forth twice as he overloaded. Mirage stayed silent even as he crested the wave of pleasure, and Jazz's only reaction was a quiet grunt as Mirage's weight pushed into him. He moved his spike to carefully stimulate a sensor cluster in Mirage's valve, prolonging the overload. Mirage's knees buckled, but Jazz easily took his weight.

As the tingling feeling receded from Mirage's extremities, he carefully lifted his head, enjoying the tiny points of light that always danced across his viewfield after an overload. He straightened his legs, and Jazz released his hips to again grasp his shoulders, and began thrusting into Mirage more purposefully.

"...if they use the external buttress as a ground," Grapple was saying. He looked over at Wheeljack. "What do you think?"

"That's interesting, but it might energize all of the water in the vicinity. Let me see your datapad." Wheeljack reached out and took the pad from Grapple. "No, I don't think they could build a capacitor there – it would completely undermine the stability of that support beam! The entire section would flood."

Mirage stifled a grunt of discomfort when Jazz's spike moved over the recently depolarized sensor clusters in his valve. After the overload, they felt almost _too_ sensitive, every little movement sending jolts of pleasure along his relays that were very intense. But Mirage knew he could bear through it, and that the discomfort would soon fade into something more pleasant.

"Is that -_uh_\- really a big concern?" asked Jazz. "I don't think ol' Megs would be too worried about some of his soldiers having to get their pedes a bit wet." His rhythm changed, still fast, but now each thrust was long and forceful, sheathing his spike to the hilt every time. Mirage braced himself against them, knowing that Jazz was close to finishing.

"I think he'd be-" Mirage cut off with a gasp when Jazz pushed very hard into his valve, the tip of his spike colliding with the terminal end, shoving Mirage forward onto the table. "-Risking quite a bit. There's some very sensitive and delicate equipment in the lower levels." He reached out and tapped some controls on the holoprojector, highlighting several areas. "I noticed a complex terminal that looked like it was used to analyze chemical samples in this room." Jazz held himself pressed against Mirage's aft for a long moment, and Mirage felt a hot rush of fluid in his valve. "That means it is likely Mixmaster's laboratory. I doubt the Constructicons would risk their equipment in an unsafe structure."

Jazz stepped back, carefully pulling his spike out of Mirage's valve. He gave Mirage's aft a pat as he stepped away and closed his panel. Mirage smiled at Jazz over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the holoprojector.

"Just because the _Constructicons_ built something, doesn't mean it's not susceptible to a well-placed explosive charge," said Grapple.

Jazz took his seat, and nodded at Wheeljack, who stood and approached Mirage.

"That is a possibility," said Mirage, as he leaned forward, raising his aft and spreading his legs to give Wheeljack better access. "The seabed is relatively unstable in that area. Perhaps our strategy of looking for weak points on the _Victory_ is not an efficient plan. What if we could just bury it?"

"I'll have Beachcomber look over your scans and offer an opinion." Jazz made several notations on his personal datapad.

"I also noted that the Decepticons seemed to have solved their little corrosion problem on level 19. So we won't-

_whirrrrrr_

A mechanical buzz came from behind Mirage.

Mirage looked over his shoulder at Wheeljack. "No gadgets." He turned back to the holoprojection, ignoring Wheeljack's downcast face. The buzzing sound ceased. "-be able to count on that part of the hull being weakened anymore." He let out an almost silent gasp as Wheeljack entered him, pushing in until he was fully seated in Mirage's valve.

Grapple began mutter again, making more notations on his datapad. Mirage lapsed into silence, listening to Jazz and Hound speaking quietly about the possible implications of the items Megatron had stolen while enjoying the relaxing rhythm Wheeljack was setting.

Normally Mirage _appreciated_ Wheeljack's inventiveness in the berth, and he was rarely disappointed by any of the devices Wheeljack produced to enhance their appointments, but Mirage needed to be able to _concentrate-_

"-do you think, Mirage?"

"What?" Mirage jerked his head up and looked at Jazz, puzzled. He _hated_ being caught unprepared, and with half of his attention on what Wheeljack was doing to him, all he could do was stare back at Jazz stupidly.

Jazz smirked at him. Of course _he_ would find the situation hilarious.

"What about some sort of drill, Mirage?" Hound said. "We were just saying that with the industrial chicken processor, Megatron would have enough material and gears to make quite a big digger."

"Hmm, that's not a bad idea… he's done it before, but Megatron's never been too shy about recycling old schemes," mused Wheeljack.

"I didn't see anything like that," said Mirage. "In fact-" Mirage looked back at Wheeljack who had stopped thrusting and was currently scratching the chin of his face plate, looking pensive. Bucking his hips a bit, Mirage cycled his vocoder.

"Oh, sorry." Wheeljack resumed his interrupted rhythm and Mirage turned back to Hound and Jazz.

"-I saw some of the old parts for that drill the Constructicons made a year ago around the _Victory_, being reused for other things. I doubt they would manufacture or steal all new parts just to build a new drill." Mirage folded his arms under his head, laying it down on the table surface.

He let thoughts drift across his processor, trying to come up with an answer. Wheeljack's movement in his valve provided a soothing backdrop for his musing.

_A device to produce electrical energy?_ Mirage hummed in satisfaction as Wheeljack reached inside of his hip seam and tweaked a bundle of wires that was exposed by his unusual position. _No, I didn't see any copper coils. They would need those…_ Wheeljack's hand moved from his hip around to the front of his interface array. _A weapon? That's most likely, but they could have done it more easily. So probably no._ A gentle touch to his external sensor node caused Mirage to arch his backstrut for a moment, and spread his legs even wider, trying to encourage Wheeljack to penetrate deeper.

Wheeljack obliged, but instead of rubbing the node like most mechs did, he simply placed a fingertip over it, providing steady pressure. His thrusts did not become more forceful, but at the end of each he added an upward motion, which stimulated the anterior sensor line inside of Mirage's valve, and rocked him onto his pedetips at the apex of each push.

The liquid heat that preceded an overload was building again, the steady pace Wheeljack had set at the beginning had given it time to build slowly but now it was rising quickly, moving up his back strut, and Wheeljack was pushing in harder now, his plating hot against Mirage. He was obviously close as well. For a nanoklik, all thoughts of the meeting fled Mirage's processor, as he concentrated on the sensations coursing through him.

_Yes, there, yes, more, _yes-

_-get that feeling  
I want sexual healing,  
Sexual healing is good for me-_

Mirage's optics switched on in surprise as the music flooded the room and Wheeljack's release flooded _him_. The sheer _cheek_! He glared at Jazz as the heat drained from his chassis, overload aborted.

"If you do that again, I will tune all your radios to country. _Permanently_."

"Aw, c'mon 'Raj, it was funny." Jazz grinned cheekily at him as Wheeljack withdrew.

"Sorry, Mirage," Wheeljack said quietly as he stepped back to his seat.

"Not your fault," said Mirage through clenched denta.

"Don't worry Mirage." Trailbreaker's deep voice came from behind him. "I'll take care of you."

"Such a gentlemech," Mirage said primly. "Unlike _some_ 'Bots I could name." He shot a withering glance at Jazz, who did not even have the decency to look abashed. Wordlessly Mirage mounted the chair that Trailbreaker was offering him.

One of the tallest mechs in the ark, Trailbreaker would have had to contort himself rather awkwardly to reach Mirage's valve if Mirage was standing flat on the floor. However by placing the chair with its back to the table and having Mirage kneel over it, Mirage's aft was lifted to a comfortable level.

Comfortable for _Trailbreaker_, that is. The position made the energon rush to Mirage's processor, but it wasn't unbearable.

"Did you find out if that maintenance tunnel in grid 432 is still flooded?" asked Bumblebee.

Mirage paused before answering, his optics flickering as Trailbreaker pushed two digits into his valve. He could feel a trickle of transfluid escape and drip down his thigh-plating as Trailbreaker moved his fingers in and out.

"Yes, 432 is still flooded, but I noticed several adjacent areas have been pumped. It will be risky to continue using that as an access point to the main lift shaft."

"Well, slag."

"Don't worry, little 'Bot. You'll find another hidey-hole eventually," said Jazz.

"But I liked that one. Scrapper used to skulk around there, and I could peg him with grease wads and he wouldn't even notice."

"OK Spec-Ops, we seriously need to have a conversation about appropriate activities while on duty!"

"Oh, we wouldn't want to do anything _inappropriate_ when we're supposed to be working, Jazz," rumbled Trailbreaker. Below him, Mirage gave a short bark of laughter which cut off in a gasp as Trailbreaker withdrew his fingers and pushed his spike into Mirage's valve.

His incredibly _big_ spike.

"What was that, Mirage? I couldn't hear you."

"Unngh." Mirage's optics flickered and his vocoder emitted a few bursts of static as his valve was stressed to its limit by Trailbreaker. The large mech wasn't _long_ per se, but he certainly had one of the largest _girths_ on the _Ark_.

However, just when the stretch was reaching the threshold of pain, the hydraulics around Mirage's valve housing depressurized, and the discomfort melted into a wonderful _heat_.

"Mmmmm," he said.

_"That's better,"_ said Trailbreaker over a private comm line.

Mirage didn't dignify that with a response.

At least, that's what he told himself. In reality, he wasn't certain he _could_ respond. Trailbreaker moved with no discernible rhythm or pattern, it was impossible for Mirage to anticipate what was coming next.

Holding himself up on his elbows was tiring for Mirage, especially when most of his weight was now directly over his shoulders. He was able to lean down enough to rest his head on his forearms and let the table surface take most of his weight. It kept his shoulder rotors from creaking, anyways.

"Did the Decepticons make any large-scale changes to the ocean floor, Mirage? How will that affect any offensive strategy we have to mount?" asked Trailbreaker.

"They've widened a canyon to the north. I -_mmm_\- there's a geothermic vent in that direction, I think they're going to try and tap into its energy."

"They can't make fuel-grade energon from that slag," Wheeljack said. "What's Megatron trying to pull?"

"I don't know, but it will make any ocean-floor based assault come in from the west, across that open plain. Nothing there for cover except a few kelp beds."

"Ugh. Don't talk about that awful stuff." Mirage's voice was muffled against his arms. "I was still picking bits of it out of my joints a week into the mission. And then I had to figure out where to hide it so it wouldn't give me away!"

"What did you do with it?" Hound looked at him curiously.

"I stuck it in the _ooooh_-" Mirage cut off as Trailbreaker pulled almost all the way out and then pushed back in, holding himself flush against Mirage's aft.

"Go easy on the mech, Trailbreaker! He's out of practice," Jazz said with a laugh.

"No...don't go easy on me, 'Breaker. _Please_." Mirage was writhing shamelessly now, trying to make Trailbreaker's spike move inside of him. His internal temperature was ramping up once more, but not fast enough.

In a final desperate bid, Mirage tried to move his hips against the chair, hoping to stimulate his anterior sensor node against the edge. However, all he could accomplish was creating a teasing pressure on the plating above his interfacing array.

Suddenly there was a buzz-snap, and Mirage went completely still.

Mirage couldn't _move_.

Shimmering forcefields held Mirage's wrists motionless on either side of his head. And judging from the faint tickling sensation around his midsection, another one was restraining his aft as well.

_"Payback is sweet, isn't it, Mirage?"_ said Trailbreaker over his comm.

_"Taking it a bit far, don't you think?"_ Mirage retorted after another fruitless effort to move. _"I didn't know you were such a sore loser. Maybe you shouldn't play games with Smokescreen in the- _oooooh_"_

A low chuckle was the only answer as Trailbreaker continued to rub the plating around Mirage's anterior sensor node. Trailbreaker pushed in and out again, and then circled the node with his finger. Mirage wanted to buck and jerk, to _force_ contact, but with the forcefields holding him in place, all he could do was concentrate on the sensations he was given.

Mirage gave up all pretense of listening to the meeting, the other's voices washing over him and becoming yet another sensation that carried him up towards overload.

When Trailbreaker reached inside of the seam between his leg and pelvic unit, and pinched a wire, an overheat warning appeared in Mirage's HUD. It was ignored. Mirage could feel his vocoder letting out a keen of frustration when Trailbreaker's hand left his sensor node, so that the only stimulation was coming from the spike in his valve. The spike fit snugly, so that Trailbreaker's every movement, even simply shifting his weight was transmitted to Mirage. The forcefields created a wonderful sense of helplessness – but it was a _safe_ helplessness. He was surrounded by friends again, he was safe. He could relax, and Trailbreaker would take care of him. Take care of _everything_.

Some of his relaxation must have been transmitted to Trailbreaker, because he reached down and fondled Mirage's shoulder axle in a soothing gesture.

Mirage wasn't aware of making any noise in response, but he must have, because he could feel the vibrations of laughter from the others transmitted along the surface of the table. Mirage thought that anyone watching this would think he should feel embarrassed, but he didn't.

He was back among friends. His friends were happy. He was happy.

He was safe.

Trailbreaker again began to stimulate the plating around Mirage's valve with his fingers, reaching around to Mirage's front, and carefully caressing his interface array. Mirage's lower limbs could move, and every time Trailbreaker pushed in, Mirage's legs and knees were forced out, splayed against the back of chair to accommodate Trailbreaker's girth.

All Mirage was aware of was _pressure_: the pressure of Trailbreaker in his valve, the pressure of Trailbreaker's weight pressing him into the chair, and the pressure of the table against his cheek and chest plating. He experienced each thrust as a delicious _squeeze-release_, acting as a bellows to stoke the fire building inside of him. It licked up his struts and along his plating, he knew when it reached his processor he would overload...so close, so _close_-

Two massive hands grabbed his shoulder-wheels, pressing them so hard into the table that Mirage thought they would burst. He could feel Trailbreaker's plating against his back, so hot that it burned.

Trailbreaker revved his engine.

The vibrations shook Mirage to his core, and pushed his systems beyond their tolerances. He felt himself cry out, and felt the impact on his leg struts as he kicked and writhed in his overload. The waves of pleasure coursed through him, and as he was about to crest and fall from the height of pleasure, Trailbreaker revved his engine again, and Mirage was pushed even higher into ecstasy.

His entire hydraulic system pressurized for a brief moment, goaded into uncoordinated action by the spare charge coursing through his circuits. Mirage spasmed, straining against the forcefields before falling into numb darkness.

* * *

"...send a reconnaissance team to investigate the terraforming on the north side."

The first thing Mirage was aware of was a cool surface beneath his cheek plating.

"I want Beachcomber and Brawn on the team. Who else can be ready to roll out at nightfall?"

The second thing Mirage was aware of was moving _over_ the cool surface. Not much – just short movements back and forth.

"I'd like to go along, too Jazz," said a deep voice behind him. When it spoke, Mirage felt as if vibrations were being transmitted directly to the core of his chassis. "Those changes could mean that some of my strategies are out of date. But I'll really need to see them personally."

Then his sensor system and memory core fully rebooted, and Mirage remembered where he was.

He could vaguely feel something _big_ moving in and out of his valve, could feel the plating adjacent to his interface array taking the strain, but beyond that, his sensors in that area were completely offline. The force of his last overload had likely burned them out. Mirage wasn't too concerned – they would repair themselves in a joor or two, and he was feeling very..._satisfied_. The sensors in his fingertips and pedes were still recovering, making his limbs tingle in a pleasant and soothing way. He was content to bask in the afterglow.

Mirage checked his chronometer. Primus! Trailbreaker was _still_ going? Mirage knew the mech had incredible endurance, but someday he was going to wear out Mirage's valve!

"I'll see what I can do, Trailbreaker. I want to keep the team to small, fast mechs."

"Would you be able to work with a hologram, Trailbreaker?"

_Oh, Hound,_ Mirage thought desperately. _You aft, don't-_

"Yeah, probably. You volunteering?"

"I think I'm the obvious choice – I'll be able to track any 'Con to and from the beach, and a bit underwater, and I'm more maneuverable than you. I can also do a detailed scan and map of the area around the _Victory_."

Mirage groaned.

"He lives!" Jazz laughed.

"Mmm," Mirage said, still not turning on his optics. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing much. We still don't have a clue what the 'Cons could be up to. Now we're putting together a recon team to see if we can't figure out why they're reshaping the ocean floor in the area."

The speed at which Mirage was pushed back and forth over the table increased and the pressure against his plating grew. Trailbreaker was getting close. Mirage braced his now-free hands against the table to give Trailbreaker something to push against.

"I don't know if it's really anything unusual," Mirage paused as Trailbreaker thrust a few times in quick succession and then stilled. "The Constructicons are _always_ pottering around out there. I think it's their hobby." Mirage couldn't feel Trailbreaker's transfluid inside of him, or his spike retracting. His only indicator of when Trailbreaker finished was when he stepped back completely, and several more rivulets of transfluid leaked out of his valve and dripped down his legs.

Trailbreaker gently helped Mirage dismount from the chair, holding his hips steady as Mirage carefully stretched his legs out, un-kinking lines and wires that had been pinched while he was kneeling. Once Mirage was again standing flat on the floor and leaning over the edge of the table, Trailbreaker left Mirage's side and took his seat.

"The Constructicons never do anything without an express purpose," said Grapple, standing. He made his way around the table to Mirage. "Mark my words, they are up to something." When he reached Mirage, he placed his hand onto Mirage's hip plate, surreptitiously examining his valve.

Grapple was a fastidious mech, but Mirage wasn't in the mood for any griping about the state of his skid plate after three mechs (Trailbreaker almost counted as two) had their turn. The two overloads were enough, and he just wanted them to get _on_ with it, so he could go to his own room and his own berth and recharge for a week. Thankfully, Grapple seemed to be prepared, as he produced a rag pretreated with solvent and began gently wiping up the mess around Mirage's valve.

Normally the soft touches and teasing strokes would have served to rev Mirage up, but because his circuits were now hyperpolarized after the excessive charges they'd been subjected to, Mirage could barely feel it. Even when Grapple cleaned his external nodes, all they produced was gentle warmth that was more likely to lull Mirage into recharge than send him into overload. Grapple was meticulous, and made sure to clean out every nook and cranny of Mirage's aft.

"Did you notice which Constructicons spent the most time outside of the base?" Grapple said as he finished his clean up by wrapping the rag around his nozzle and pushing it as deep as he could into Mirage's valve. He held it there for a few kliks, letting the microfiber absorb as much as it could.

"Long Haul and Scrapper were the most active outside, and I never observed Hook going out." Mirage pushed his knees out a bit, shifting in an effort to make the object in his valve more comfortable. It was rather long and thin, and a bit of the nozzle tip hadn't been covered with the rag and bumped irritatingly against the valve wall whenever Mirage or Grapple moved. Normally Mirage loved it when Grapple used his nozzle, but with most of his sensors offline, it was merely annoying.

Grapple put his other hand on Mirage's aft to hold him still. "That's interesting... normally Hook keeps incredibly close tabs on his team. He is a micro-manager; doesn't like to give his mechs too much creative freedom."

"Yes, I noticed he was always popping in on Mixmaster without warning." Mirage relaxed as Grapple removed his nozzle and the cloth from Mirage's valve. "I think because Mixmaster's specialty is chemistry rather than _unf_ construction," Mirage cut off with a grunt as Grapple's entry pushed him against the table. "Hook tries to keep closer tabs on him than any other Constructicon."

"Well, I'm sure that theory will fit in nicely with the thesis I'm writing on Decepticon Interpersonal Relations, but it's not really relevant to what we're discussing," Jazz said dryly.

"Sorry," said Mirage and Grapple at the same time.

"What's stumping me," Wheeljack cut in, obviously still trying to work out the puzzle that the raids created. "Is that I can think up a dozen gizmos that they could be building with just a few of the stolen items, but then why would he have taken everything else?"

Jazz sighed and rested his head in his hands. "I think we've been over that, Wheeljack."

Mirage propped his head up on one hand, trying to think of any other bit of information that could help them. Thankfully, Grapple seemed disinclined to draw out his turn, and was thrusting in an efficient and businesslike manner.

Just after one of Mirage's few still-functional sensors went dead, Grapple stiffened and quivered against Mirage's aft. He was done. Considerately, Grapple cleaned up the exterior of Mirage's interface array before stepping back and motioning Bumblebee over.

"So the mechs we have confirmed for the recon team are Beachcomber and I," said Hound. "I'd feel safer with some of our best fighters along. Being that close to old Megs' lair always makes me jumpy." He turned to smile at Mirage. "I don't know how you do it all alone, Mirage."

"I just don't think about it too much." Mirage smiled back at Hound, then glanced over his shoulder to see how Bumblebee was getting on.

Bumblebee had moved the chair behind Mirage, and turned it sideways. He was clambering up to stand on it so he could reach Mirage's valve. Mirage lifted himself up on his arms to tilt his pelvic unit down, and bent his legs, bringing his interface array within Bumblebee's reach.

"I'd go, but Prowler would mount my chassis on his office bulkhead if I left the _Ark_ while I was supposed to be in command." Jazz punched a few controls on the side of the large holoprojector, and a duty roster appeared where the map had been. "Do you think the twins would be able to handle it?"

"Their fighting skills are valuable, but I would be nervous having them along on a covert mission," said Mirage. _If Hound is going to be leaving on a mission, the least I can do is make sure he comes back safely._

"We've already got Brawn," said Grapple. "His drill will be useful, especially if Beachcomber wants to take some soil samples."

The mechs around the table nodded, and Jazz made a notation to have Brawn's drill checked before the team left the _Ark_. Mirage looked back at Bumblebee again. Bumblebee was pushing into him with vigor, but because of the hard use Mirage had already seen that joor, he couldn't feel much of anything.

Then Bumblebee tugged a bit on the back lip of Mirage's cockpit. Mirage obligingly spread his pedes further apart, lowering himself a bit more. The new angle meant that Bumblebee's relatively shorter spike was poking a sensor cluster midway along the posterior wall of Mirage's valve. Mirage flinched at the first sharp thrust, letting out an almost inaudible squeak from his vocoder in surprise. Bumblebee paused for a moment, but continued when Mirage didn't protest.

The new sensation made it harder for Mirage to concentrate on the discussion. It wasn't _unpleasant_, but he was unaccustomed to it. Most of the mechs on the _Ark_ possessed spikes long enough to simply slide by the cluster, but Bumblebee was really _jabbing_ it.

"I suggest Seaspray for surface monitoring and support," said Mirage. Bumblebee was managing to build up a small charge in his circuits. Mirage wasn't eager to have another overload, he was _drained_. Although the faint buzzing swelling in his pelvic unit was annoying, he knew it would dissipate as soon as Bumblebee was done.

"We need another fighter to cover you and Beachcomber, Hound." Jazz scrolled through the roster, scanning the names.

"I just outfitted Tracks with some improved hydrofoils. He's steadier than Cliffjumper or the Twins," said Wheeljack.

"Tracks will make a good addition." Jazz turned off the holoprojector and looked at Hound. "I'll inform Brawn, Beachcomber, and Tracks. Put together a supply list for anything you think you'll need. I don't have an expected timeframe for this mission, so play it by your axles. I don't want Powerglide to have to make supply drops unless it is absolutely necessary.

"Hound, I have some new gaskets that won't deteriorate in salt water as fast as the standard issue gaskets do. They'll keep your holoemitter watertight long enough to make detailed images." Wheeljack got to his pedes, gathering up his datapads.

"Alright," Hound said, standing. "I'll stop by your lab before rolling out."

"Wheeljack," Jazz stood as well, pushing in his chair. "I want you to keep thinking about what the 'Cons could be planning to build. Keep pushing ideas to me as they come to you, no matter how improbable."

"Hound," Mirage protested. "You'll miss your turn!" He slid his hand along the tabletop, reaching for Hound. With the meeting over, and Hound going on a mission, their appointment would be even further delayed! Even as tired as he was, Hound deserved a proper send off. Maybe one more overload wouldn't be so bad after all.

"I wasn't on the request, Mirage." Hound smiled at him, and placed his hands over Mirage's, giving it a small squeeze. Mirage didn't know why, but just being in contact with Hound caused his internal temperature to spike and his spark to pulse.

"I don't _-ooh-_" gasped Mirage as Bumblebee stepped up the force of his thrusts, grabbing onto Mirage's hip plate and pulling Mirage into each one. "I don't care."

"I have to leave, Mirage. Besides," Hound leaned in close, placing a hand on the back of Mirage's helm and looking deep into his optics. "I prefer having you all to myself." Hound closed the distance between them and captured Mirage's lips in a kiss.

Mirage's already-taxed systems tried to resist, but their fail-safe measures were weakened by the rapid successive overloads, and he jerked against Hound, opening his mouth in a wordless cry of pleasure. Hound took advantage, his glossa slipping past Mirage's lips to plunder his mouth, rocking Mirage's head back with the force of his passion. As Mirage's valve spasmed in overload, he could dimly feel Bumblebee push against him and then still before pulling out and spilling his transfluid on Mirage's aft. Mirage's arms gave out, and he would have fallen heavily against the table if not for Hound holding him up.

As the aftershocks of the overload moved through him, Mirage felt himself held and lowered gently, his legs folding strutlessly beneath him as he was placed carefully on the floor.

When he rebooted his optics and looked around groggily, Mirage saw that Hound was supporting his head against his shoulder, and the others were all standing around them, looking down at him. Then he focused on Hound, who was smiling at him.

Mirage could only respond with a dazed, dopey grin.

"I guess that concludes all of our _other_ business." Jazz clapped his hands. "You have your assignments – everyone on the recon team get ready to roll out."

"C'mon, Mirage," said Hound, heaving Mirage to his pedes. "I'll see you to your quarters before I have to leave."

"Mmm, just want to stay here," Mirage mumbled against Hound's shoulder plating. However, he could feel some of the heaviness leaving his limbs as he stood. "Think we made a mess." Mirage looked over at the chair, which had been liberally splashed with silvery transfluid and his own lubricant.

"Don't worry, we'll clean it up," called Bumblebee as Hound steered Mirage out of the meeting room.

Mirage leaned heavily on Hound as they made their way down the corridor. "_I'm_ going to have to clean up," he said, remembering that Bumblebee's transfluid was still all over his aft.

"Did they hurt you?" Hound said, concern in his voice. "I thought-"

"No, no," laughed Mirage. He rested his head on Hound's shoulder, relishing the feeling of Hound's strong arm wrapped around his waist. "To tell you the truth, after two and a half weeks of forced celibacy, even _Swindle_ was starting to look good!"

Hound threw back his head and laughed. "Then it's a good thing we all feel the same way." He suddenly stopped, and when Mirage looked up at him in surprise, he drew Mirage into another kiss. When they broke apart, Mirage's lip plating was wet and tingling, and his vents were heaving. "Welcome back, Mirage," Hound whispered into his audio.

* * *

High above the Pacific Ocean, a small, dark speck zoomed towards the docking tower that rose above the waves, the only indicator of the Decepticon base beneath the surface.

Soundwave watched the monitor as Laserbeak's energy signature approached, and sent the command to open the docking tower when his cassette was ready to land.

"Lord Megatron: Laserbeak returns."

Heavy steps approached his chair at the communications panel. He could feel his leader's electromagnetic field against his, strong and commanding.

"Excellent, Soundwave. Now we will find out if their little spy is carrying tales." Megatron's laughter echoed around the command deck.

"I still don't know why you didn't just shoot the sneaking brat when you had the chance," Starscream sneered, crossing his arms over his cockpit.

"And that, Starscream, is why you are not the leader of the Decepticons. The most useful spy is the one you know about."

Any retort Starscream would have made was cut off when the lift bay doors opened and Laserbeak flew into the command room. The other Decepticons present turned to watch the Recordicon's report.

"Laserbeak, prepare for playback." Soundwave opened his cassette compartment, and waited for Laserbeak to transform and enter.

Laserbeak landed on a console, and shifted from claw to claw, looking everywhere except Soundwave.

For a moment, Soundwave was nonplussed. That one of his cassettes should refuse to transform and integrate was inconceivable. Soundwave ran a check on Laserbeak's systems. If anything had malfunctioned, he _should_ have known immediately.

All diagnostics returned negative.

"Laserbeak: transform."

Nervous murmuring moved around the bridge as Laserbeak cawed, and then hid his head under his wing.

Had something gone wrong on the mission? Had Laserbeak been unable to infiltrate the _Ark_? None of his Recordicons had any reason to refuse to admit they were unable to complete an assignment.

"Is there a problem, Soundwave?" Megatron's voice held the barest hint of impatience.

"Negative, Lord Megatron." Soundwave sent a command along the psychic link he shared with all of his Recordicons. It was unpleasant for both, but they were running out of time. As Laserbeak transformed, Soundwave caught an echo of nervousness from his cassette.

Laserbeak was terrified.

He was terrified of what was on the _tape_.

Soundwave would normally not hesitate to initiate a playback without reviewing it first, but this time he felt it would be prudent to do so.

"Lord Megatron, footage requires reconstruction. Estimated time required: two kliks." The lie came easily, even as Soundwave was already reviewing the recording.

"Just get on with it!"

Soundwave was motionless as he analyzed the footage. Then at six kliks in, he discovered what had frightened Laserbeak so much.

"Lord Megatron…"

"What?!"

"Footage contents… unanticipated."

"I don't care!" Megatron shouted, losing his temper and slamming a fist into a console. "Commence playback immediately!"

"Command: Inadvisable." Had Soundwave been a mech plagued with confidence issues, he might have shifted nervously. He did not know how to obey without possibly damaging Megatron's reputation in the minds of the troops, and he could not continue to refuse without challenging Megatron's authority.

"This is not up for discussion." Megatron's voice became low and threatening. Soundwave knew he had no choice.

"As you command, Lord Megatron." He connected to the main computer, and the large viewscreen in the middle of the bridge flickered to life.

At first, Megatron seemed pleased with the results, a low rumbling chuckle emanating from deep in his chassis when it became obvious that their raids had been a perfect diversion. "Exactly as I had planned!" he said. "Now the Autobots will be distracted by...by…" Megatron's voice trailed off as he watched the video. Soundwave could feel Laserbeak becoming more and more nervous inside of his cassette compartment.

He didn't need to watch the screen to know what was happening. All the faces were riveted to it, showing varying degrees of slack-jawed astonishment.

Then the storm broke.

"Are…are they _really_…?" Skywarp asked, horror in his voice.

"Barbarians!" said Onslaught.

"Disgraceful," sniffed Hook, turning away with a sour look on his faceplate.

Soundwave could feel the thoughts of the others in the room battering at his mental shields, their effect heightened by emotion. Soundwave ignored it, working quickly to put together a transcript of the _important_ portions of Laserbeak's tape, so the Recordicon would not be forced to play it back again.

He gradually became aware of an undercurrent of lust slithering through the thoughts of the mechs in the room. Soundwave recoiled from it, not bothering to discover the source. He looked at Megatron, who was still standing motionless, staring at the screen. How would Megatron react? He had to take the situation in servo before it spiraled out of control. Soundwave had faith in his leader, but he knew that even Megatron would be hard pressed to keep some of the more brutish troops in line now that it was known there was a mech with a _valve_ on Earth. For a brief moment Soundwave considered saying something, but that would only make it appear as if he was trying to undermine Megatron's authority.

Suddenly Megatron turned, and stood with his back to the screen as he addressed the assembled mechs.

"Decepticons!" he thundered. "You now see why our fight is just! Why we must stop at nothing to eliminate the Autobots!" With a grand sweep of his arm, he motioned to the screen. "They preach freedom, yet they force this mech to serve their base desires!"

Soundwave could feel the mental tide start to turn from disgust and lechery to righteous anger and indignation.

"How do you think they would treat us were we defenseless?" Megatron continued, without even a flinch as a high-pitched moan came from the speakers of the viewscreen. "This is the fate they would have for all of us, forced to work or fight or be fragged like drones. Autobot lies and propaganda have fooled this mech into fighting against his own liberation!"

Several shouts of encouragement rang out at Megatron's words.

"No Decepticon will ever be enslaved to the desires and whims of another! Not while my spark still burns, not while my systems still function!" Megatron's optics blazed red with outrage.

"I think we should rescue him! I volunteer to share my quarters." Swindle spoke up when Megatron paused. Next to him, Vortex's propeller gave a sudden spin as his motor engaged.

"Lord Megatron: motives duplicitous." Megatron was of course capable of discerning this for himself, but Soundwave knew the other troops would lend more credence to his telepathy.

Megatron gave Soundwave the barest hint of a smile before rounding on the two Combaticons. "You would have us stoop to the level of the Autobot degenerates? Your comrades should be ashamed to consume energon with you!"

Swindle did not duck fast enough, and was knocked to the floor by a blow from Megatron's fusion cannon.

"Get out of my sight!"

Vortex and Swindle scrambled for the door, and the other Decepticons drew back from them, as if trying to distance themselves from the dishonorable suggestion.

"Soundwave, analyze the _useful_ portion of the recovered footage, and report to me with your findings." Megatron firmly pressed the power switch on the viewscreen, and the playback ceased.

Megatron had once again proved his worthiness to lead the Decepticons. Soundwave's apprehension had been groundless. He sent a reassuring pulse to Laserbeak, tucked away safe in his compartment. _Mission: success._ A warm, contented mutter in the back of his processor was the only answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Credits:  
> _Oh Yeah_ by Yello  
> _Sexual Healing_ by Marvin Gaye


	7. Never Be Anyone Else But You (Mirage/Ironhide, Roleplay)

After he tapped his code into the key pad beside the door, Mirage slipped silently into the dark room beyond. His optics provided the only illumination, but layout of the room was unchanged from the last time he had been here, and he was able to navigate across the floor and to the berth against the far wall with no missteps.

A mech was on the berth, motionless, appearing to be deep in recharge. He faced the wall, back plating to Mirage.

Mirage carefully lowered himself to the berth, placing one hand on the mech's shoulder. Immediately his hand was grabbed in a strong, vise-like grip.

"It's me, Ironhide. I'm here," whispered Mirage.

A low groan was Ironhide's only answer.

Mirage carefully lay down along side Ironhide, pressing against his back, pulling him into a close embrace, and letting his hands wander over Ironhide's windshield and down into his wheel wells.

"Mmm, you always know just how to touch me," Ironhide said. Mirage's only response was to release a gentle puff of air from his vents, nuzzling into the back of Ironhide's neck. He carefully reached under Ironhide's helm, allowing the other mech to rest on his forearm. He continued to grope and fondle Ironhide's grill, tracing the lines of his headlights and bumper.

When Mirage dipped his fingers into the armor gap at Ironhide's waist, Ironhide let out a soft, broken moan. Mirage responded by nipping an exposed seam on Ironhide's neck, then soothing away the sting with a line of kisses.

Ironhide's cooling fans kicked on. Mirage smiled against the thick, always-cool plating that gave Ironhide his designation. One of Ironhide's hands covered Mirage's, gently following all of Mirage's movements. When Mirage moved his hand from Ironhide's waist to the armor panel that protected his interface array, the hand fell back, lightly holding his wrist.

As he traced the lines and seams of the panel, Mirage thought about how honored he was that the normally gruff and reclusive Ironhide would allow him to see this side of his personality. When he thumbed the manual catch that would expose Ironhide's array, Ironhide's engine practically _growled_, and he ground his pelvic unit into Mirage's hand.

Mirage hummed in satisfaction against an exposed cable in Ironhide's shoulder, and the panel opened, Ironhide's spike extending a nanoklik later into Mirage's hand.

_This_ part of Ironhide was warm, the thin, delicate plating transmitting the heat of Ironhide's arousal readily. The difference between the temperature of the spike and the temperature of Ironhide's armor never ceased to surprise Mirage. He gripped it, relishing the searing heat against his palm. Mirage moved his hand slowly up the spike, from the base to the tip, extending his index finger and tracing the lower sensor ridge as he did so. When he reached the end, he gave it a sharp squeeze, and Ironhide bucked and shouted; his voice hoarse with static.

Mirage continued to touch Ironhide, his grip becoming firmer, and his kisses to Ironhide's neck becoming more and more aggressive _bites_.

Again the curious, whimpering cry came from Ironhide's vocoder. He squeezed Mirage's wrist, stilling his hand on the spike.

Then Mirage had to scoot back as Ironhide turned in the narrow berth to settle on his broad back. Both of Ironhide's hands moved up his arms to grip his shoulder wheels briefly, and then moved surely and firmly down his back and side until they rested on the crest of Mirage's pelvic unit.

Suddenly Ironhide gripped Mirage's hip plate and pulled him over so that Mirage was lying draped over his chassis, helm resting on Ironhide's windshield. Ironhide's hands seemed to be everywhere as Mirage licked and nipped at Ironhide's neck plating. Hands that held a blaster-rifle rock-steady on the battlefield trembled as they traced over the lines and seams of Mirage's aft and dipped into his cockpit.

"You're so beautiful," Ironhide said, speaking into Mirage's helm-vent. "Blue is my favorite color...you wear it so well."

Mirage gasped and reared up as Ironhide dipped a finger into his foot well, tracing and fingering the delicate dials and pedals intended for a human driver in his alt mode. As he sat up, Mirage straddled Ironhide. He braced himself on Ironhide's windshield, and moved himself up and down, shamelessly rubbing his aft on Ironhide's spike.

"So eager... always so eager..." Ironhide grabbed Mirage's hips, stilling him. "Let me feel you."

"Mmmm, yes," Mirage said in a barely audible whisper. "_Please_."

He shuddered as Ironhide's hands traveled up his nosecone, over his winglets, and down his sides. Mirage alternately arched and bowed his backstrut as Ironhide's hands moved over his thighs, and thoroughly explored the seams between Mirage's leg plating and pelvic unit.

"Oh, _oh_-" Mirage's voice raised an octave as strong, blunt fingers found his panel, and pried at the seams.

"Need to _feel_ you, _please_." Ironhide's voice was heavy with static, his tone desperate and pleading.

Mirage obliged, retracting his cover at once. Before it was all the way open, Ironhide's fingers were at Mirage's entrance, pushing, insistent. They lifted Mirage completely off of Ironhide for a bare moment as Ironhide thrust them in, testing, _exploring_. Then he moved one hand to Mirage's hip to steady him, guiding Mirage back down.

A series of soft gasps escaped Mirage as Ironhide worked his fingers in and out of Mirage's valve, stimulating his exterior sensors with his thumb. At first the sensation was almost too much for Mirage, and he tried to recoil, but Ironhide's strong hand stayed him. Then the sensation was _not enough_ as heat pooled and built in Mirage's pelvic unit and climbed his lower back strut. He pushed forward, meeting Ironhide's motions, and pulled back, grinding against Ironhide's spike.

Mirage's engine revved and snarled as his systems approached their tolerance limits.

"So _wild_, but you're _mine_." Ironhide withdrew his hand, ignoring Mirage's whine of disappointment, moving his palm up Mirage's nosecone. When he stroked Mirage's sensor grid, Mirage thrashed and jerked in response, his processor overwhelmed by the stimulation.

With a snarl, Mirage grabbed Ironhide's wrists and pinned them to the berth on either side of Ironhide's head. He dove for Ironhide's neck, giving him a sharp bite that made Ironhide cry out and writhe against him. He could feel Ironhide testing his grip, testing his ability to maintain the hold.

Putting all of his weight on the arms underneath his hands, Mirage pushed back and impaled himself on Ironhide's spike. For a moment they were frozen in time; Mirage with his mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy as he slowly sank fully onto the spike, Ironhide with his optics offline thrashing in pleasure.

Then the moment was over, and Mirage was pumping his pelvic unit against Ironhide, setting a heedless, reckless pace, and pursuing his climax with all of his being. His knees gripped Ironhide with strength borne of passion, holding Ironhide in place while he took his pleasure. Although Ironhide managed to lift his hands from the berth several times, Mirage always bore them back down and pinned them to the vented surface.

Mirage's punishing rhythm soon began to falter, his pelvic unit making smaller involuntary movements as the sensors in his valve approached their thresholds.

Ironhide bucked, his spike jerking forcefully in Mirage's valve and stimulating the sensor cluster at the terminal end. Mirage cried out, his voice an incomprehensible mix of static and feedback as he overloaded. Circuits and relays sang in a chorus of pleasure as an electrical cascade assaulted his sensor net. Mirage jerked his pelvic unit back and forth three times as his valve clenched around Ironhide's spike, pushing against Ironhide's hip plate as hard as he could, seeking to extend his climax.

Beneath him, Ironhide's cables and struts tensed and pulsed as Ironhide neared his own release. The power contained in the frame beneath him both excited and humbled Mirage.

"Oh, _oh_-" Ironhide's cries became quieter as his frame tensed even more, until they died to a mere broken, forlorn whisper.

"_Chromia!_"

Mirage rocked his pelvic unit slowly, drawing out Ironhide's overload, luxuriating in the feeling of the powerful mech beneath him, filling him. He keened in delight as a hot burst of fluid was released into his valve. The waves of tension moving through Ironhide slowly died down, and Mirage carefully uncurled his hands from around Ironhide's wrists. He winced as collapsed hydraulic lines re-opened, making his fingers and hands sore and stiff.

When Ironhide's spike retracted, Mirage carefully lifted himself on his knees, swinging his leg over Ironhide's limbs to dismount. As he sat on the edge of the berth, Mirage looked down into Ironhide's dark optics, and smiled fondly. The other mech was still recovering, his fans and vents working to dump super-heated air. While he waited, Mirage carefully closed his panel and put himself in order. He noticed a bright red scrape of paint on his thigh – he would have to visit the washracks.

Finally Ironhide spoke. "Thank you…Mirage." Mirage squeezed Ironhide's shoulder and stood, emitting a sonar ping to navigate back through the dark room. He paused at the door, looking back at Ironhide, but there was no sound or movement from the berth.

The corridor seemed unnaturally bright after the gloom of Ironhide's room, and Mirage paused for a moment as his optics adjusted. Mirage was suddenly overcome with a sense of melancholy. He missed Hound. When Mirage had asked Jazz, he was told that there was still no definite timeline for when Hound and the rest of the scouting party would return.

Mirage turned and walked down the corridor, heading towards the 'racks. A quick check of his schedule confirmed that he had no pending requests until second shift tomorrow. Mirage felt himself perk up a bit. A quiet night alone would be welcome, perhaps with the datapad of the new W.E.B Griffin novel that Chip Chase had made for him. It would be nice to not have to be _on_ for a while. He pulled up the software application that supported his scheduling database, preparing to black out the night, putting himself as unavailable for appointments.

_If Hound was here, we could go for a drive,_ thought Mirage. _He always knows the best-_

"Mirage!" The shout rang out from the corridor behind him.

As Mirage turned, and saw Bluestreak trotting up the corridor behind him. A pang of guilt twisted in his spark. He hadn't had the chance to speak with Bluestreak since he had returned from his mission, and he felt terrible about having to leave Bluestreak to wake up alone after his first intimate experience.

"Bluestreak, it's good to see you," said Mirage with genuine happiness. Bluestreak pulled up, seeming a bit hesitant and awkward. Mirage smiled and drew him into a hug. Bluestreak relaxed then, tension leaving his frame, and returned it.

"I missed you Mirage. I tried to find out when you would be coming back but Jazz would just say it was classified, and at first nobody knew where you were and I thought that maybe something I did had made you leave and-"

"Oh, Bluestreak, no, it wasn't like that at all," Mirage interrupted the flow of words as he ran the back of one finger down Bluestreak's cheek plating. "I had to, the 'Cons don't exactly choose the most convenient moments to strike."

"I know that," Bluestreak said, looking down and mumbling. "I was just hoping we'd have more time to talk and maybe get some energon before I had to go on shift and…and stuff."

The guilt flared anew in Mirage's spark – he hadn't thought about what sort of gauntlet Bluestreak would face from some of the more _indiscreet_ mechs on the _Ark_ after it became known that he had interfaced for the first time with Mirage. Had he been there, Mirage would have been able to deflect most of the inappropriate comments, and above all Bluestreak wouldn't have had to face them _alone_.

_And he said that no one really knew where I'd gone. Primus, that must have been _humiliating.

"I wish we could have had more time too, Bluestreak," Mirage said aloud.

"Hey, maybe we could hang out now? We could go get some energon or go to the rec room; I've got the new James Bond movie I borrowed from Carly, you always like those, or… or… we could go to my room? Cliffjumper was talking like he was going to be out all night…" Bluestreak reached out and tentatively touched Mirage's shoulder, tracing the racing logos that adorned his plating.

"You mean an appointment? Tonight?" Mirage asked, feeling his spark drop into his fuel tank. "Well, I was planning on…" Mirage's words trailed off as he looked at Bluestreak's shy, hopeful expression.

_It would crush him. Refusing him now would be like making him face waking up alone all over again._

Mirage stifled his disappointment at losing a free evening. Really, it would be a good opportunity to get to know Bluestreak, and it would only be an appointment, he would still have a significant amount of time to relax and recharge. Mirage smiled gently at Bluestreak.

"I would love to have an appointment with you Blue-"

"Really? Oh, that's great, Mirage, we'll have a good time, I promise," interrupted Bluestreak. Suddenly a notification popped up on Mirage's HUD that another user was accessing his schedule. The code was Bluestreak's. As Mirage watched, his spark sinking, Bluestreak selected the entire block of time between Mirage's appointment with Ironhide and his coming appointment with Inferno.

_Of course,_ thought Mirage as the program accepted the request as valid after confirming that Bluestreak had enough chits. _If he hasn't traded them away, he could probably request a month-long appointment if he wanted to._ Mirage indicated the request as accepted. _I'll just have to wear him out so I get _some_ recharge tonight_. As soon as the program indicated that Bluestreak had exited the database, Mirage quickly blacked out a large chunk of time after Inferno's appointment.

When he finished, Mirage smiled at Bluestreak again, and Bluestreak's answering, deliriously happy grin alleviated some of Mirage's annoyance at his lost evening.

"Shall we?" As Mirage turned to continue his on his way to the wash-rack, he was stopped by Bluestreak's hand on his arm, tugging him in the other direction.

"My room is _this_ way, Mirage," said Bluestreak.

"Oh, I need to visit the wash-rack, first." Mirage motioned to the bright streak of red paint that was currently decorating his inner thigh.

"Oh. _Oh._" Bluestreak's face fell a bit as he saw the scrape. "You mean you, uh, you just…"

For a moment Mirage was puzzled by Bluestreak's reaction. Hadn't Bluestreak noticed Ironhide's appointment immediately prior to the time he had reserved?

"Don't worry, we can _get started_ in there," Mirage said, lowering his tone to something more sultry and caressing one of Bluestreak's doors. Maybe Bluestreak was simply disappointed that they wouldn't be going directly to his berth?

Bluestreak stared at him for a moment, then, when Mirage fondled his door handle, Bluestreak's engine gave a sputtering rev. It was silenced quickly, but Bluestreak looked down, embarrassed.

"What did I tell you about that?" teased Mirage. "Now come on, let's get going." He grabbed Bluestreak's hand and led him along down the corridor. After a few paces, Bluestreak seemed to get over some of his bashfulness and moved closer, releasing Mirage's hand to place his arm around Mirage's waist.

Mirage could see Bluestreak sneaking furtive glances his way as they walked, and once he thought Bluestreak was on the cusp of saying something, but then stopped himself and looked away. Hoping to draw Bluestreak out a bit, Mirage leaned into his embrace and slipped his arm around Bluestreak's middle, letting his fingers just lightly brush Bluestreak's hip seam. He was rewarded by Bluestreak's doors hitching up slightly, and an almost imperceptible quiver going through his frame.

"Mmm, I can't wait until we're back in your room, Bluestreak," Mirage said, hoping to make Bluestreak more comfortable.

"R-really, Mirage?"

"Mmm-hmm." Mirage tilted his head up so that he was speaking directly into Bluestreak's audio. "I can't wait to have you in me," he whispered.

This time Bluestreak's whole chassis quivered. Mirage waited patiently for Bluestreak to recover and respond.

"You, um, you really do like interfacing, don't you Mirage?"

Bluestreak's non-sequitur caught Mirage completely off guard. He drew back a little, unsure how to answer the question.

"Well, yes, but no more than the next mech, I suppose. Why do you ask?" They slowly drifted to a halt, and Bluestreak stepped away slightly, but still kept his arm around Mirage's waist components.

"Um, I mean, you really _do_ like it?"

"Of course I do, Bluestreak," Mirage said, and smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not planning on quitting just yet. In fact-"

"I mean, have you ever _not_ liked it? But you still had to? What if you didn't like doing it but someone made you do it?" Bluestreak's words tumbled out in a confused jumble, and it took Mirage a moment to piece them together.

"Bluestreak," he said carefully. "Has someone made _you_ do something you didn't want to do?"

"Huh? Oh, oh, no! No." Bluestreak's voice dropped to a low whisper and he looked around furtively, ensuring that the corridor was still deserted. "You're the only one I've done anything with. And I really liked it!"

Mirage smiled at him in relief. "That's good. But to answer your question, no. I've never had to do anything I didn't enjoy, or want to do. I don't think anyone on the _Ark_ would make anyone do something like that, do you?" Mirage stepped closer to Bluestreak again, intending to urge him to continue on towards the 'racks.

"N-no, I guess not. But…" Bluestreak looked down at the floor plating, nervousness evidenced by his tense posture.

Mirage waited for Bluestreak to tell him what exactly was bothering him.

"Well, I heard that when you came back from the mission debriefing you had done lots of mechs and the meeting room was a mess and you were so hurt and tired you could barely stand; and I just want you to know that if anyone ever hurts you, you can tell me and I'll – I'll take _care_ of them. I _will_."

"Where did you hear that?!" Mirage exclaimed, taken aback. It wasn't that he was _ashamed_ about the little stunt Jazz had pulled, but it was generally accepted that his activities were _not_ gossip fodder.

"Well, Sideswipe and Smokescreen were talking about it, Sideswipe heard it from Skids and I guess Skids heard it from Windcharger because they're roomed together, and I was just worried that maybe you'd been hurt with so many mechs-"

"How many did you think there were?" Mirage was quite taken aback by Bluestreak's concern. While perhaps it had been a _bit_ much after over a fortnight off, it was hardly the most-

"I – I heard twelve."

"_Twelve?!_"

"Don't be mad, Mirage, please, that's just what they said and I was so worried about you-"

"Bluestreak, Bluestreak," Mirage tried to quell Bluestreak's increasingly loud voice. "I'm not mad at you, I promise. I'm just…startled. First of all, it's not anyone's place except for those who were _there_ to talk about it, and second, you know as well as I do that the scuttlebutt tends be somewhat…exaggerated around here."

Bluestreak looked at Mirage silently for a moment, processing this.

"…so you didn't interface with Swindle?"

"_WHAT?"_"

Bluestreak flinched as Mirage's outraged shout echoed down the hall.

"Mirage, please don't be mad at me, I said you would never do something like that, I swear, I-"

"_Swindle?_ The very idea-"

"I know, I said so please Mir-"

"…has to be the _slimiest_ mech I've _ever_-"

"…don't think the walls are that thick here-"

"…_face_ with that disgusting, credit-grubbing, _cringing_ mech! I-" Mirage's incensed diatribe was cut off as Bluestreak grabbed his arm and began pulling him down the hall.

"Mirage, _please_, I don't, I don't think they meant it that way," said Bluestreak, desperately trying to quiet Mirage.

Mirage shut his mouth with a snap and cycled his vents deeply, controlling himself. "What other way could they have _meant_ it?" he asked in a carefully even tone.

"I-I…please don't be mad, this is just what they said, but I think they meant that you had to – to do _that_ to escape. Or something."

Mirage stopped, staring incredulously at Bluestreak.

"Bluestreak," he said carefully. "That would be the _last_ thing I would _ever_ do to escape. Do you have any idea what would _happen_ to me if they found about this?" He motioned to his pelvic unit. "Do you think they would bother with _chits_?"

"I don- oh. _Oh._" Bluestreak's optics brightened as comprehension dawned. Then a steely, determined expression appeared on his face. "Don't worry Mirage. I won't _ever_ let that happen to you. I swear."

"Oh, Bluestreak." Mirage smiled fondly at him. Sometimes Bluestreak acted so serious, especially during a battle, that Mirage often forgot just how _young_ he was. "Nobody can promise something like that." Reaching out, Mirage took hold of Bluestreak's chin, and drew him close for a tender kiss.

After a moment, Bluestreak reached up and grasped Mirage's arms, his strong hands squeezing Mirage's plating spasmodically as Mirage moved against his lip components.

"But I will," said Bluestreak, as they broke apart. "I'll protect you."

"You can't, nobody can protect anyone all the time." Mirage turned away and they resumed their walk to the washracks. "This is war, and terrible things happen to people. It's just how it is."

Bluestreak seemed to puzzle over this as they walked in silence. After they entered the wash-rack and Mirage had programmed the spray head, Bluestreak spoke up.

"Maybe you shouldn't _be_ in the war, you don't have to fight, you could give your electrodisruptor to someone else, and it wouldn't be such a risk, then, would it? Also you should be careful about 'facing, I mean, 'facing in _public_, especially with so many mechs because sometimes Ravage and Laserbeak get in and what if they saw? At least it would be safer to only 'face in quarters; my quarters don't even have an air vent-" Bluestreak broke off when he saw Mirage staring at him incredulously.

"Not _fight_?" The spray head activated, cool water and solvent sluicing over Mirage's frame, but he didn't notice. "_Why?_"

"Well, you said that-that terrible things could happen. You know. If the 'Cons found out about…that," Bluestreak said. "You're always in and out of the _Victory_, isn't that really dangerous? I'm sure someone else-"

"Someone else would be in just as much danger as I am on a mission."

"But-"

"This isn't up for discussion, Bluestreak," Mirage said firmly. He cycled his vents again, and stepped closer to Bluestreak, reaching out to trace a finger over one of Bluestreak's headlights. "Isn't there something more… _pleasant_ we could be doing?" He smiled when Bluestreak trembled and his optics flickered.

"I-I guess…" Bluestreak said, just before Mirage leaned in and cut off his words with a heated kiss.

There was no more conversation.


	8. Somebody's Watching Me (Mirage/Inferno; Voyeurism)

"Bluestreak…_ungh_… Bluestreak!" Mirage pulled away, and tried to roll out of Bluestreak's berth, but an arm hooked around his torso, pulling him back.

"Just a…just a few kliks more," whispered Bluestreak against his audio, before pushing Mirage onto his back and kissing him passionately. "Oh, _Mirage_."

Bluestreak had been an eager student, and Mirage was hard put to keep his processor from being distracted by what Bluestreak was doing with his lip-components and glossa. Bluestreak's hands were busy, fondling Mirage's shoulder-wheels and caressing his helm vents. Mirage could feel Bluestreak heating up again – he had lost count of the overloads Bluestreak had during the long night – but he knew he couldn't give Bluestreak another one. He didn't have _time_.

"_Please_," said Mirage, as he wiggled, and finally managed to grab Bluestreak's wandering hands. "I have another - _mmph!_" His reactions were slow, and Bluestreak managed to dodge past Mirage's defenses to steal another kiss.

Mirage had used _every_ trick and scheme he knew to wear Bluestreak out, but the younger mech seemed to have boundless fuel reserves, and had only fallen offline for a joor before rousing Mirage and insisting on another round.

_I hope Inferno's not feeling too energetic,_ thought Mirage.

"…you're so beautiful I just want to do this forever and never stop…" Bluestreak was saying against Mirage's neck-plating, mouthing the sensors and cords he found there.

"Bluestreak!" Mirage finally raised his voice, and Bluestreak paused, looking up at him in astonishment. "I need to _go_," said Mirage, his tone quieter. "I have another appointment. Let me up." He pushed a little at Bluestreak's chassis to emphasize his point.

Bluestreak looked up at Mirage for a moment, and then he looked down, crestfallen, before rolling over and off. His hands lingered on Mirage, moving over Mirage's hip plate as he stood.

"Just a few kliks more, Mirage," Bluestreak wheedled, sitting up and heaving himself to his pedes. "It won't take too long, I promise."

Mirage stood in the center of the room, putting himself in order and ensuring that he wasn't _leaking_ or anything. As he gave a few cursory swipes to a bright red paint scrape on his panel, Bluestreak wrapped his arms around Mirage from behind, leaning over to run his mouth over Mirage's neck cables.

"C'mon, Mirage – just a little more, please, you're amazing, I _need_ you…" As he spoke, Bluestreak's hands roamed over Mirage's plating, fingers wiggling into every chink in Mirage's armor they could find.

"Bluestreak, I have to _-oh-_ go," repeated Mirage. He turned in Bluestreak's arms and placed a kiss on the center of Bluestreak's chevron. Bluestreak responded by surging up and capturing Mirage's lips once more, while his hands dropped to fondle Mirage's aft. For a moment Mirage was overwhelmed by the sensations Bluestreak was producing, but he managed to bring his hands up and push away, ventilation fans working hard to expel heat from his internals. "Don't _mmm_ don't start that again, Bluestreak, I'll never get out of here and I have another appointment."

"Tell them you're being repaired." Bluestreak's voice was muffled from where he was nibbling Mirage's neck cables. "You're waxing your helm. You need to realign your sprockets." He held Mirage even more tightly, squeezing him in time to his soft bites. "Your electrodisruptor is-"

Mirage laughed at Bluestreak's increasingly ridiculous list of excuses. "I can't do that. How would you feel if I stood you up?"

Bluestreak's embraced eased a bit, and Mirage stepped back until he was holding Bluestreak at arm's length.

"I know." Bluestreak looked down, disappointment writ large on his face-plating. "I just… you make me feel…"

"I understand," Mirage smiled kindly, and held Bluestreak's hand as he moved towards the door. "But remember: you can always make more appointments."

"Yeah," Bluestreak conceded, and allowed himself to be led. "Besides, I don't think Prowl would like it too much if I skived off my duty shifts to stay in berth with you."

"He'd be less than amused." Mirage stepped through the doorway, but leaned back to give Bluestreak a peck on the cheek-plate. He took a step down the hallway, but Bluestreak did not release his hand and tugged him back again, quickly moving one of his hands behind Mirage's helm and pulling him into _another_ kiss. The hand on Mirage's helm rocked his head back, and when Mirage relaxed his mandible in surprise, Bluestreak's glossa slipped past his lip-components, and this time there was no hint of clashing denta. _He learns fast,_ thought Mirage dazedly, as he allowed himself to relax and be thoroughly and completely kissed.

When Bluestreak released him, Mirage's lip plating was tingling and wet.

"I'll make that appointment." Bluestreak's voice was husky with static.

"I'll be watching for it." Mirage turned and walked quickly down the corridor, but not quickly enough to avoid Bluestreak's pinch to his aft. As he reached a bend in the hallway, Mirage threw a sultry smile over his shoulder at Bluestreak, who was still leaning against the door frame, grinning dopily.

As soon as Mirage was out of optic-range, he broke into a trot, heading for the nearest 'racks. He didn't have to check his chronometer to know that there was no possibility he would be on time for his next appointment. He sent a ping to Inferno.

_"Hi Mirage, what's up?"_ Inferno's ever-cheerful voice answered his hail.

_"Inferno, I'm so sorry, I'm running late. Don't worry, I don't have anyone scheduled after you, so you'll get your whole appointment-"_

"Don't worry about it, take your time. I'll be here."

"Could you do me a favor, Inferno?" Mirage ducked under one of the spray-heads and palmed the controls, turning to and fro quickly under the stream of solvent. _"I'm getting low on fuel, but I haven't had time-"_

"Say no more," chuckled Inferno of the comm. _"I'll have a cube waiting."_

_"Thank you so much! I'll see you in a klik."_ Mirage cut the channel. Glancing around to ensure he was alone, Mirage grabbed the sprayer head and yanked it from its bracket, freeing the length of tubing that allowed it to be manipulated so as to spray hard to reach areas. He moved his legs to a wider stance and leaned back against the 'rack wall for balance before aiming nozzle spray directly into his valve. He hissed at the intense, slightly painful sensation – normally Mirage would simply have opened some of the external vents on his pelvic unit which drained to his valve and cleaned it out that way, but he didn't have time. He would just have to hope that the water pressure didn't cause any backflow into his lubrication system.

When he was done, he quickly shut off the flow of solvent and replaced the nozzle in its bracket before moving over to the bank of dryers. On his way he snagged the cleanest old, human beach towel he could find from the drying rack. While under the blower, Mirage used it to wick moisture and stray solvent from the cracks and plates that weren't in the current of moving air.

He frowned a bit as he examined his plating.

_My finish is getting dull. I'll need to give myself a good polish after Inferno's session today._

After he was finished, Mirage held up the towel and scrutinized it. There was a streak of grease across one side, so he tossed it in a hamper by the door as he left.

When he reached Inferno's door, he was exactly two kliks late. To a mech as accustomed as Mirage was to being punctual, if not early, it was infuriating. He took an extra few nanokliks to compose himself, and to try and act as if he _hadn't_ just been sprinting through the halls of the _Ark_ with his electrodisruptor on.

The door opened immediately when he requested entry.

"Hello, Inferno, I do apologize," said Mirage as he walked in. "I really-"

"I told you, don't need to apologize to me," said Inferno, standing up from where he'd been fussing with something on the floor. "Energon's on the desk."

"Thank you, Inferno; you're a spark-saver." Mirage picked up the cube and poured a generous portion down his intake. For a moment he stood motionless, the influx of fuel causing his holding tanks and buffers to react in a way that sent a wave of tightness down his intakes.

"What have you been doing that's got you so low?" Inferno said from behind him.

"Oh, just an appointment that ran long. Do you need any?" Mirage held up the cube over his shoulder.

"I wouldn't say no to a sip or two." Inferno steadied the cube and leaned over Mirage's shoulder to take a long pull. "Now you have the rest. I'd be in real trouble if it got out that I let you get undercharged during an appointment."

As Mirage lifted the cube to his lips and began consuming the energon once more (at much more relaxed pace) Inferno gently placed both of his large hands over Mirage's shoulder axle. Mirage moaned into the cube when Inferno began to rhythmically squeeze the axle and the couplings that held it.

Inferno laughed.

"Sounds like you need this."

"Oh, yes," said Mirage. "I didn't know how stiff they were until…_oooh_." He shuddered a little in reaction as Inferno carefully ran his fingers along a hydraulic line, squeezing it and forcing Mirage's fluid system to circulate. After so long supine in Bluestreak's berth, some of it had pooled and stagnated, contributing to Mirage's discomfort.

Inferno continued to work on Mirage's axles and shoulders, even moving up his neck strut while Mirage drained the last bit of energon from the cube. His hands were warm on Mirage, and when Mirage dispersed the cube he pressed up against Mirage's back, his front grille already hot.

"Shall we?" Inferno said into Mirage's audio.

"I'm ready, that energon was just what I needed." Mirage reached up behind himself and ran a hand over Inferno's helm.

Inferno rumbled in satisfaction as Mirage fingered his helm-wing, but then reached up and grabbed the wandering hand. He turned, so that his arm was draped across Mirage's shoulder as they walked towards the center of the room.

A large trapezoid was marked out in adhesive tape, with strips forming an "X" in the middle. Mirage looked at Inferno, a query queued up in his vocoder.

"Oh. Ah, last time we got out of frame for awhile. This was his idea. It should give us a good idea of where to stay."

"I see," Mirage said. He released Inferno's hand and stepped into the square, and then knelt down on the x. "Is this the best spot?"

"Yup." Inferno moved to the narrow end of the trapezoid, where an old security camera had been placed, wires running up to Inferno's personal console. "I'm booting up the feed now."

Mirage didn't respond verbally, but he did move his knees apart, tucking his pedes under his aft. He started to caress himself, moving his hand over the nosecone of his altmode, and tweaking his own helm vents.

Inferno watched him, crouched behind the camera, optics smoldering.

Mirage dimmed his own optics, and smiled as the little status light on the camera turned from a blinking amber to a steady green.

"Mmmm…" hummed Mirage as he moved his hands back down his chassis, and turned off his optics. One hand caressed his nosecone, while the other moved over and around the seam of his interface panel. He tossed his head and made a small noise of impatience in the back of his throat.

Inferno's heavy pede-falls approached him, and he could hear the groaning and hissing of struts and hydraulics as Inferno knelt behind him.

He heard the whirr of the camera lens zooming in and focusing. Mirage smiled.

Two large, warm hands gently cupped his face, and then slowly ran down his neck plating to continue kneading and fondling Mirage's axle and shoulder strut. Mirage arched back, until he was pressed against Inferno's grille. While the heat coming from Inferno's internal components was just enough to slow Mirage's systems down, it also made his hydraulic fluid slightly less viscous, causing the last of the tension to drain away from his systems.

The hands moved down over Mirage's back before suddenly sliding under his arms to grope his anterior sensor grid and nosecone. Mirage moaned again as Inferno's arms tightened, pulling him hard against his grille, and taking most of Mirage's weight.

"Mmmm," Inferno rumbled against Mirage's audio. Mirage lifted a hand and reached up to caress Inferno's helm, undulating his pelvic unit and back strut against Inferno as he did so.

"_Mmmm._" Inferno's voice took on a harsher, more urgent tone as Mirage grabbed one of his helm-fins.

Mirage ran his hand along the structure, squeezing gently. For a moment Inferno seemed to lose control; he grabbed Mirage's hips and ground his own pelvic unit hard against Mirage's aft. Mirage turned his optics on as he detected the sound of Inferno unlocking and sliding open the panel that covered his interface array.

"Oh _yes_, Inferno," groaned Mirage as he felt Inferno's spike slide out. Inferno lifted Mirage up a bit, so that his spike slid beneath Mirage, rubbing over Mirage's still-closed panel.

Inferno revved his engine again, and the hand that had been exploring Mirage's nosecone dropped down, tracing the seams and gaps of Mirage's pelvic unit. Mirage leaned back against Inferno, allowing his knee-joints to slide forward and out.

"Mmm, that's it," Inferno murmured into Mirage's audio. "Easy now." His hand closed over Mirage's upper arm, gently moving him so that his cockpit was positioned more comfortably against Inferno's bumper. Mirage relaxed against Inferno, allowing Inferno to take most of his weight as his pelvic unit tilted further back. Without Inferno's solid support, Mirage would end up aft-over-intake, and _that_ certainly did not make for good cinema.

The hand that had been on Mirage's arm moved down, coming to rest gently on Mirage's hip plate. Inferno's hands were broad enough that he was able to tease the anterior portion of Mirage's interface panel. The light stimulation, transmitted indirectly to Mirage's interface components was doing more to heat him up than anything else would have after his lengthy session with Bluestreak.

Inferno's leisurely movements and touches were relaxing Mirage so much, that he gripped Inferno's forearm plating to keep from slumping sideways in his arms. The hands were slipping further down his pelvic unit, testing the security of its latch, pulling Mirage's thighs even further apart.

At this point, Mirage gave up all pretense of supporting himself – Inferno knew what he liked, and he wouldn't hurt Mirage. Mirage could _relax_, and just go along for the ride. He let out a quiet, breathy moan as Inferno triggered the latch on his panel, and manually slid it open. Mirage let his head fall back against Inferno's windshield. There was something... deliciously _arousing_ about allowing another mech to open his panel, about allowing himself to be exposed and _viewed_ in such a vulnerable position.

Mirage whimpered and reached up to grip Inferno's shoulder, squeezing it in time with Inferno's movements.

One of Inferno's digits carefully traced the exterior scrolls that adorned Mirage's valve. Mirage's air intakes stuttered and his frame trembled at the feeling. He knew Inferno, and he knew that Inferno was going to thoroughly explore every seam, ridge, and crease of his plating – the anticipation was heating him up almost as quickly as the actual stimulation.

When Inferno carefully traced a ridge between thumb and forefinger, Mirage whined and arched back, his pelvic unit attempting to draw away from intense feeling.

"Steady now, steady Mirage." Inferno's gentle voice soothed Mirage, and his firm hands prevented him from moving, from escaping the touch that was at once _too much_ and _not enough_. Mirage whimpered again, but stayed still, allowing Inferno to settle him once more.

Inferno continued to trace the ridge, holding Mirage in place until he ceased tensing against the contact. When Mirage relaxed into the touch, Inferno moved on, skirting the lateral rim of his valve by a fair distance, and settling on an unmarked patch of plating posterior to Mirage's valve. Again the strong hands urged his legs farther apart, and this time Mirage could hear the camera once again zooming and re-focusing. He tried to keep his pelvic unit as still as possible, so it wouldn't go out of frame.

It wasn't easy – Inferno started to trace the area, before pressing down and _rubbing_ with his thumb. A deep groan escaped Mirage, and Inferno laughed, low and quiet. A flash of embarrassment at having made such an undignified sound only contributed to Mirage's rising core temperature.

Beneath the bit of plating, a main sensor network hub resided, and by pressing on it, Inferno sent frissons of pleasure shooting throughout Mirage's circuits. He bucked sharply, but Inferno instantly gripped his aft and pelvic unit preventing any further movement, while continuing to stimulate him with the heel of his palm and thumb. Thus immobilized, Mirage's legs started twitching in reaction.

"Relax, Mirage," rumbled Inferno. "Be still."

"C-c-can't," Mirage whined. "Please, Inferno-_ooohh!_" he tried to roll his hips, to communicate just how aroused this was making him, but Inferno simply redoubled his grip and remained immovable. Mirage swayed from side to side in Inferno's arms, trying in a half-sparked manner to free himself, but was unsuccessful. Inferno continued to push down on the node, only stopping for as long as it took to pull Mirage back from the brink of overload.

Finally Mirage ceased his movements, relaxing against Inferno and allowing the waves of sensation to wash over him, no longer resisting them or trying to ride to climax. He felt one bead of lubricant clinging to the lower rim of his valve, the hyper-sensitized plating tracking its movement. With a delicateness that belied his large size, Inferno caught the drop just as it spilled over the edge, rubbing it between his digits, testing its viscosity.

Inferno's digits traveled up the other side of Mirage's valve, this time coming closer to the rim than before as the decorative scrolls spiraled inwards towards the center. Mirage tried to keep his eager moans to himself – Inferno was coming closer and closer to his anterior sensor node. Anticipating the intensely pleasurable stimulation, Mirage turned his head, rubbing his face and helm against Inferno's arm plating in silent, pleading submission.

But he couldn't stifle a cry of loss when Inferno skirted the node entirely, only indirectly stimulating it with pressure on neighboring plating sections.

"Please, please," begged Mirage, shameless now. Even the feeling of cool air moving against his exposed sensors was driving him over the edge.

"Hush."

"_Please!_ Mmmm, I can't stand it Inferno! _Oh!_"

"Shhh..."

"Inferno..." Mirage's voice was a mere tremulous whisper. His thighs quivered with unreleased tension. His whole sensor net was alight with energy, humming through him, seeking release. For the moment, Mirage was only aware of Inferno's hands on him, of Inferno's warm plating against him; everything else melted away. He tried to grind down, to move against Inferno's extended spike, attempting to entice Inferno to enter him.

"Set quiet, and let me do for you, Mirage." Inferno's deep voice rumbled through the broad chest behind Mirage, adding another layer of sensory input to his already overwhelmed system.

Inferno continued to trace the plating around Mirage's valve, never entering its aperture, and never stimulating the anterior node, keeping Mirage yearning for more. More drops of lubricant escaped from Mirage's valve, and Inferno carefully spread them over Mirage's external components as he worked. Then Mirage could feel a change in the way Inferno was touching him – his movements became more purposeful and directed.

One blunt fingertip pressed in on the posterior rim of Mirage's valve. Mirage arched in Inferno's arms, mouth opening in a silent cry of pleasure. The fingertip continued to press on the rim plating, the pressure increasing until it was just on the other side of discomfort. Mirage's ventilations quickened, and a barely audible whine issued from his vocoder.

"Inferno..."

"Shh, relax, you're fine..."

Just when Mirage was able to master the feeling of pressure from Inferno's finger, Inferno pressed down harder. A genuine cry of hurt came from Mirage, but it was quickly followed by a gasp of delight when Inferno's other hand finally -_finally_\- moved down and rubbed over Mirage's anterior node once.

A wave of burning, liquid warmth spread from the point of contact, and Mirage could feel actuators and hydraulics relax and depressurize even further in its wake.

Suddenly the plating Inferno had been pushing on gave way, sliding aside as the springs that had held it taut and firm were overcome. His chucks released, and Mirage found himself spread wide as Inferno slipped his thumb inside of the valve opening and pulled down. Inferno held Mirage firm, displaying him to the unblinking, unwavering lens of the camera. Mirage made a minor effort to wiggle free, but Inferno kept him in place easily, sliding the digits further into Mirage's valve, and spreading them, anchoring Mirage's entire pelvic unit from within.

As he did so, Inferno let go of Mirage's leg and wrapped his arm around Mirage's middle, lifting him up and taking most of his weight. Mirage tried to kick out, finding a small outlet in raising his knee-joints off of the floor, his entire body trying to tense into a tuck position.

"Put your legs down Mirage, out in front of you," whispered Inferno. "That's it."

Mirage gasped as he moved, the prolonged kneeling position had stiffened some of his joints, and the motion of his legs caused internal components to move against Inferno's fingers.

Inferno lowered him down gently, until he was sitting on the floor with his legs in front of him, knees up and spread. At some point during the transition Inferno must have shifted too, as his strong, red legs were on either side of Mirage's, and Mirage could feel his extended spike against his aft. Mirage wiggled against it a bit, trying to encourage Inferno to _use_ it already, and to try to hint that perhaps his main sensor node was being neglected.

"Behave yourself," said Inferno gruffly, and Mirage gasped as the fingers in his valve gave a firm _twist_. Mirage let his head fall back against Inferno weakly, optics flickering. The incredible feeling of his chucks being manually spread continued to oscillate between a burning stretch and a maddening pleasure.

For a moment he was squeezed uncomfortably as Inferno leaned forward to grab the camera and adjust it relative to their new position. Then he reached up and stroked Mirage's cheek-plate. Mirage turned towards the contact, nuzzling into Inferno's palm, mouthing and nipping at it gently.

"All right Mirage?" Inferno asked. "Still with us?" Mirage nodded silently.

With his weight off of his knee-joints, Mirage was able to spread his legs farther apart, bracing his pedes on the outside of Inferno's legs.

"Now keep still." Inferno moved his thumb and forefinger deeper into Mirage, moving them to stroke the inner walls of his valve, carefully stimulating the mechanoreceptors and triggering the pressure sensors, but skipping main nodes. Mirage groaned in frustration; the activation of the pressure sensors without tripping the main nodes made his valve feel dull, almost _numb_, but at the same time contributed to a wave of tingling _urgency_ that was slowly spreading over his pelvic unit and up his backstrut.

Almost unconsciously Mirage reached down, aiming for an external node, but Inferno caught his hands easily.

"What do you want Mirage?"

Mirage's reply was breathless with urgency. "I want you in me, please, Inferno!"

"I'm already in you."

"I want your spike, _unngh_, please! I need it now!" Mirage switched off his optics and pressed his head against Inferno in frustration. "I'm so charged up, I _need_-" Mirage's pleas dissolved into soft cries and whimpers.

"Shh, I know what you need."

Mirage cried out in loss as Inferno withdrew his fingers from Mirage's valve, allowing the chucks to return half-way to their original position. Inferno disappeared from behind his backstrut, and he was lowered slowly to the floor.

He heard the sound of Inferno fumbling with the camera again, and then strong hands took hold of his legs under his knee-joints and lifted them. Mirage turned on his optics again as Inferno's weight pressed his knees to his chest, and Inferno's spike, hot with arousal, pressed against his interface array.

Inferno released Mirage's legs, but his broad chassis kept them elevated. He then moved one hand up, along Mirage's body and arm until he held Mirage's wrist firmly. The other felt Mirage's valve, preparing to guide his spike inside. Inferno was not meeting his optics, but their relative height differences made that impractical anyways. Mirage switched his off again, relishing the feeling of Inferno's bulk pushing him into the decking.

As Inferno's spike breached his rim, Mirage's mouth opened wide in a silent scream of ecstasy. It was so much _hotter_ than any other, and his nodes being stimulated in concert caused the tingling numbness to recede in the face of a wave of indescribable pleasure. Inferno moved gently, sliding slowly forward until he was seated fully in Mirage's valve.

"Yes, yes, Inferno! _Yes!_" Mirage writhed as Inferno moved in and out, slowly at first, but building in speed with each pull and thrust. "More, more, please, more!"

When Inferno pressed in hard, grinding his pelvic unit against Mirage, Mirage's systems were pushed beyond their tolerances. His legs kicked out in time to Inferno's thrusts as the overload swept through him, but their rhythm faltered as he climbed higher and higher. For the moment there was nothing in the universe for him except for the surges of energy originating from his valve and coursing through his body.

Then Inferno slipped his hand between their bodies and rubbed his anterior sensor node.

Mirage screamed as white hot energy burned through his circuits; he thrashed beneath Inferno, barely registering his pede impacting something small on the ground that gave way with a _crunch_.

His body went limp as the overload ran its course, his processor swimming in a haze. Mirage could dimly feel Inferno pushing in and out faster and faster, until suddenly pulling out altogether. A split-nanoklik later hot drops of fluid splashed over Mirage's pelvic unit. Mirage could hear Inferno's heavy ventilations above him; he could feel the hot air move over his plating. Then, with a groan of actuators and hydraulics, Inferno rolled off of Mirage, his heavy body impacting the floor with a strut-shaking thump.

For several kliks, Mirage drifted, savoring the after shocks and stray currents that rippled through his wires. His limbs were heavy, and the circuits in his extremities buzzed, causing his hands to spasm every few astroseconds.

As he lay there, listening to the pings of his own armor cooling, Inferno sat up. Mirage could hear him crawl over to where the camera had been. _Whoops._ Then followed the sounds of what Mirage assumed was Inferno gathering up the pieces. When those stopped, Inferno again approached him (sounding somewhat steadier) and when he began wiping up the transfluid and lubricant on Mirage's hip plate, Mirage moaned.

"All right, Mirage?" Inferno asked.

"Mmmmngh."

"Good to hear." Inferno patted his thigh.

"You know...I'm going to have...to get Ratchet to reset...my chucks again." Mirage's optics rebooted, and he lifted his head to glare at Inferno. "And 'm not...going to cover for you, you know."

Inferno just laughed. "You liked it."

Mirage let his helm fall back to the floor. "Mmmm, _yes_." Inferno laughed harder.

"So are you going to get up, or should I just tell visitors that I have a new rug?"

"Rug. Conceptual sculpture. Anything. Just don't make me move."

Inferno didn't say anything to that, but he continued to clean up, and with a practiced motion moved Mirage's chucks more or less back into place, and slid Mirage's panel closed once more.

As the last tremors ceased, Mirage made another effort to move. Inferno was pulling the marking tape up from the floor, but he was immediately at Mirage's side, lifting him to his pedes. Mirage clung to Inferno for a few moments as his internal gyros stabilized, and Inferno walked him over to a wall-mounted seating bench.

"I may need a few moments, Inferno. That was...that was something." Mirage found himself calculating exactly how far it was to his quarters...and then how many steps it would be to cross his room and fall into his berth. After that overload, he felt like he could recharge for a whole Terran _week_.

"Take all the time you need, Mirage. Do you want me to get more energon? Or coolant?" Inferno squeezed Mirage's shoulder-strut gently.

"No, no, I'm fine...I just need to wait until my circuits stabilize."

"Take all the time you need...in fact, I wanted to ask you about something." Inferno sat down next to Mirage, but didn't turn to look at him. Instead, he looked down at his hands, which were clasped tightly, betraying Inferno's tension.

"Of course, Inferno, you can always talk to me about anything." Mirage placed a hand on Inferno's arm and smiled warmly at him.

"Well, it's like this. Red...well...he's been wanting to make an appointment."

Mirage nodded encouragingly, intrigued by the prospect. _I wonder what he's like in the berth...Not as shy as Bluestreak was...probably restrained and polite until you _really_ heat him up._ "I'll be happy to schedule an appointment whenever is most convenient for him. But why are you...?"

Inferno cycled his vocoder. "He'd like to make a joint appointment."

"_Oh_," said Mirage, optics widening in understanding. Mirage had assumed it was too much for their extremely private Security Director to interface casually, and that the most Red Alert would ever be comfortable with was watching Mirage's sessions with Inferno, Red Alert's closest friend. _Maybe he _is_ just as shy as Bluestreak, and wants Inferno there as a buffer; someone to take some of the attention off himself._ Mirage's smile widened. "That would be fine, Inferno. I do joint sessions regularly."

"That's great, Mirage!" Inferno looked at him with obvious relief. "But I don't have any more chits, so we'd have to wait...I assume it's double the amount?"

Mirage shook his head. "Chits only cover time, Inferno, and Red Alert doesn't need them because he's an officer. I'll schedule it under his designation, so it won't take any of your chits at all."

"Thank you, Mirage, it means quite a lot to me." Inferno stood, and Mirage stood as well, most of the earlier weakness gone from his limbs. "Don't tell him that I told you, but he's very nervous about it."

"I'm just happy that he trusts me enough to schedule a session with me." Mirage made his way to the door. "Oh, and please, tell him I'm sorry about the camera."

"I think he'll be more torqued off at me, Mirage," Inferno said with a rakish grin. "I shouldn't have put it so close."

"I hope so, for my sake," laughed Mirage, as he palmed open the door. "Have a restful cycle, Inferno."

"You too Mirage. And thank you."

_How lucky Red Alert is to have such a good friend,_ Mirage thought as he walked down the hallway to his own quarters. _Not every mech would be willing to share their appointments to help someone get over their shyness._


	9. Respect (Mirage/Gears; Bad Sex)

"_Mmm,_ yes," said Mirage. His tone was a bit more enthusiastic than he felt at the moment. He was currently on his back, practically folded in half, his helm coming dangerously close to impacting the wall at the head of the berth.

But that was to be expected when being fragged in a minibot's berth.

"Ooh, can you lift up a little? My backstrut's killin' me."

The complaints were nothing new either.

"Of course, Gears." Mirage obligingly tilted his pelvic unit to provide a shallower angle, accommodating Gears' short but energetic thrusts. He moaned appreciatively, switching off his optics in an attempt to focus on the pleasurable feeling of Gears moving inside of his valve, stroking past the pressure sensors just inside the rim, directly stimulating the node halfway-

"Prowl's had me on double shifts for week! I've barely had time to oil my joints. Primus knows how I've stayed functional." Gears' rhythm did not falter through his diatribe, a feat which never failed to surprise Mirage.

"That's -_uh_\- that's too bad..." Mirage knew that Prowl was as fair as he could be in doling out assignments, and with so many mechs dedicated to supporting the undercover mission, most of the Autobots left were pulling double shifts. Mirage himself had taken a shift in the security room the previous cycle.

"Maybe you should turn around. My hip socket's making a funny noise."

Mirage barely refrained from heaving a long-suffering sigh of air from his vents. "Happy to," he said shortly. Whatever he had to do to enable Gears to overload as fast as possible was worth it at this point. Gears tended to mellow a bit after the first one, anyways. Mirage waited until Gears pulled out, and then rolled over carefully. Repositioning on such a narrow berth without ejecting one or both of them was no simple subroutine.

"You almost kicked me in the processor, Mirage," said Gears when Mirage was in position on his hands and knees.

"Sorry." Mirage's reply was muffled in the berth plating. His knee-joints were tucked up almost to his chin in an effort to fit on Gears' small berth.

"That's all right." For several kliks Gears pushed in and out in silence, and Mirage attempted to regain his earlier processor state. Simply concentrating on the feel of Gears' spike, just the right length to hit several sensor clusters directly, helped. Gears' robust systems humming just under the plating pressed against Mirage's aft lent a pleasant undertone to the industrious movements. He could feel -  
b  
"You're tighter than last time."

Mirage's optics switched on.

"What?"

"Your valve. It's smaller."

Mirage wasn't sure how to react at first – was Gears giving him a _compliment?_ Most mechs, when pressed, would say that they preferred a narrower diameter valve, but few would come right out and _declare_ it during an interface. But leave it to a minibot to break _that_ little social convention.

"Yes," Mirage answered, sounding pleased. "I just visited Ratchet yesterday. He tightened my chucks. That way I can feel _every_ little movement." He looked over his shoulder, giving Gears a sultry smile.

"Huh." Gears was not looking at him, instead he had his usual scowl fixed on the bulkhead. Mirage gave up and rested his head on his crossed arms, allowing Gears' running commentary on the unfairness of the universe to blend into the background sensor noise.

"...and now my hip socket's squeaking even _worse_."

Mirage resisted the urge to hit his helm against the berth. "Is there another position that would be more comfortable for you?" he asked.

"I don't know, you're kind of high up. It's hard to reach."

That was what Mirage had been afraid of. With such a narrow berth, he couldn't spread his legs and bring his aft lower. "Would you like to move to the floor? It would certainly offer...more _exotic_ options."

"Nah, I'd get dirt in my rotors. The berth's fine."

"We could always go to the 'racks later."

"The spray-heads are aimed too high. They always hit me in the face."

Throttling the sharp retort that welled up in his vocoder ruthlessly, Mirage instead asked, "Do you have any ideas?" with false good humor.

"Eeh...maybe if you got on your side. Hey watch it!"

"Apologies," said Mirage as he settled on his side. Perhaps he had been a bit _too_ forceful in pulling away from Gears and flopping onto the berth. He now faced outward, towards the small room that Gears shared with Brawn. He pulled the heel of the pede that was against the berth up to his aft, and wrapped his arms around his other knee joint, tucking it under his chin.

When Gears entered him, Mirage discovered to his delight that this new position meant that Gears' smaller spike was rubbing directly along the line of nodes that ran along the posterior seam of his valve. His circuits began heating up much faster than before.

"Mmmm- _yes_, that's-"

"No, when you were on your front it was better. Let's go back."

It was only by sheer force of will that Mirage kept his pleasant smile in place on his facial components as he turned back around to his previous position.

"Better?" he asked.

"Eh, it'll do."

Thankfully, Gears seemed to run out of complaints for the time being, and actually stayed silent for a klik or two. Mirage shifted, bringing his valve sensors more in line with Gears' thrusts. The waves of pleasure produced were building, not fully dissipating between Gears' movements. He stifled a moan – any vocalization on _his_ part might encourage Gears to start up again.

Gears' pace quickened, and his rhythm grew erratic. He was close. Mirage switched off his optics, focusing his attention on the heat building in his lower components. He was almost-

"I tried to get in to have Ratchet look at my back strut yesterday. And my hip socket. But he said he didn't have time."

Mirage suppressed the urge to scream in frustration as the building pleasure died to nothing. Then the fully processed the words. Was Gears actually suggesting...?

"I guess some mechs are higher on the priority list than others."

"Gears," Mirage said as evenly as he could while still being fragged by a diminutive-yet-strong-for-his-size minibot. "I hope you're not implying what I think you are. And I remind you that I would not have been available for _this very appointment_ if Ratchet had _not_ made time for me yesterday. Now, could you _please_ refrain from complaining about things I have no control over while you're fragging me?"

"Sure...sorry."

"Thank you." Mirage looked front again. Turning his neck around like that was crimping his energy lines something awful. But Gears was blessedly silent now, apparently he had finally made an impression on Gears' hard little helm. He relaxed against his arms, trying to regain his earlier arousal.

"It's really small though. Kind of pinches."

"That's _it_."

Mirage sat up, ignoring the indignant yell from Gears as he was dumped unceremoniously off the foot of the berth by Mirage's sudden movement. The armor panel slid closed over Mirage's valve with a decisive _snap_.

"What's the big idea, Mirage?"

"I have just reached my tolerance limit for your _griping_, Gears." Mirage leaned over the astonished mini-bot, poking him in the chest plate for emphasis. Mirage straightened, glaring down at Gears, arms akimbo. "Consider yourself cut off from scheduling privileges. Until I see proof that you can go a whole day without complaining, I won't accept your appointment requests. Is that _understood?_"

Gears made no reaction, but just kept staring up at him, mandible hanging open in astonishment. Mirage turned on his heel and stalked towards the door. As it slid open, he heard Gears scrambling behind him.

"Hey, Mirage, wait! Wait! I'm-"

The doors cut off the rest of Gears' desperate yells, and Mirage did not hesitate as he stalked down the corridor.

_Really!_ he fumed. _Where does he get off having the brass bearings to talk to_me _ like that?_ For a moment, Mirage experienced a flash of guilt. Gears really had not been complaining any more than was usual. But that last dig about his valve... Mirage's anger flared again when he thought about it. _First Bluestreak, and now Gears? If it's so fragging terrible, why do they keep making appointments? They can go find their own. Maybe talk to Dr. Fujiyama, ask him to make a pleasure-drone for them to blow their circuits. They think that just because I share a piece of hardware with the drones in those laughable pleasure-vids that I should act like them, coo and fuss over every little thing they think up to do with their _precious, glorious_ spikes. I have one too, not that any of them remember that. Just because I have a valve doesn't mean the subroutines for the _rest_ of my interface array have been deleted!_

"Mirage!"

Mirage froze, debating for a moment simply turning on his electrodisruptor and making a break for his quarters. He didn't want to talk with _anyone_ right now...

"What?" Mirage asked, turning towards Bluestreak, who was trotting up behind him.

"Um," Bluestreak said, clearly taken aback by the less-than-warm greeting. "Um, I was just looking for you."

"You found me." Deep in his spark, Mirage knew he was being uncharitable. It wasn't Bluestreak's fault that Gears had pushed too many of his controls. Even though Bluestreak had commented about his valve that first time, it was just a symptom of a young, nervous mech confronting his first intimate experience. He would regret snapping at Bluestreak if he didn't control his temper and remove himself from the situation.

That was what Mirage _knew_, but what came out of his vocoder was different.

"I got a new movie from Carly. It's not James Bond, but she said if you like _007_ stuff you'd like this. And... and I thought, maybe, you'd want to watch it? With me?" Bluestreak finished, pathetically hopeful.

"No, thank you," he said brusquely. Even as he said the words and turned to continue on his way, Mirage's spark twisted with contrition.

Bluestreak stared, speechless for a few moments, before his face and doors fell.

Mirage stopped a few steps away. If he continued on, he knew Bluestreak's hurt expression would plague him until he made this right. Carly hadn't visited in several weeks – Bluestreak must have made a special trip to see her and get the movie. Just for him. He didn't deserve to be treated like this.

"I understand, Mirage, um, the invitation's open if you ever..." Bluestreak's words trailed off. "Um, okay. Maybe next time then."

"Bluestreak, wait." Mirage trotted back to where Bluestreak was standing, poised to trudge back down the hall. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. Please forgive me."

"Oh, um, it's okay. I'm sure someone else will want to watch it with me, I mean Sideswipe has been talking about-"

"No, Bluestreak, it's not okay. I had a bad...a bad cycle and I took it out on the first mech I came across. My behavior was inexcusable." Mirage smiled at Bluestreak. Perhaps being with someone so open and unassuming would help him get over the sour feeling Gears' aborted appointment had left in his processor. "I'd love to watch it with you. Thank you for thinking of me."

"Are you sure, Mirage? I don't want to presume, and if you really don't want to, I _do_ understand." The shy, wary look Bluestreak was giving him stabbed Mirage's spark anew.

"I am sure. And now that I think about it, maybe a movie is just what I need." Mirage moved forward, and grabbed Bluestreak's hand. "Shall we?"

A wide smile split Bluestreak's face.

"Sure!" he said, moving off and pulling Mirage along with him. "You'll like it, I know you will, it has car chases and the double agent has some really cool scenes, at least that's what Carly told me, and I'll keep you company and maybe give you a polish and make you forget all about your bad day..." Mirage smiled and nodded in the appropriate places as he followed Bluestreak's lead, letting the cheerful chattering wash over him.

He was somewhat surprised when Bluestreak turned away from the direction of the main rec room. But before he could cut in and interrupt Bluestreak to find out where they were going, another voice called out from behind them.

"Hey, Blue! Just mech we were looking for!" Sideswipe came trotting up; Sunstreaker sauntered behind him at a more sedate pace.

"Hello Sideswipe, Sunstreaker," Mirage said, smiling at them. Bluestreak remained silent.

"_Hello_, Mirage." Sideswipe's smile changed subtly into what he obviously thought was a rakish expression. "You're looking quite... _ravishable_."

"What are you two up to?" Mirage turned to address his question to Sunstreaker, artfully staying just out of Sideswipe's grabbing range.

"We finally found a human sport that was worthy of our talents. We had the ball, mallets and everything ready, and then Slag and Sludge had to have a glitch fit over the saddles. Prowl yelled at us and Wheeljack was really mad, so now we're bored," said Sunstreaker with a shrug.

Mirage decided it was better not to ask.

"I'm sure four enterprising mechs such as ourselves could find something fun to do." Sideswipe had managed to sidle up close to Mirage, and put an arm around his shoulders. "_Especially_ with you, Mirage."

"Actually, Bluestreak and I were planning on watching a movie. But why don't you join-"

"We're watching it in room 237. It's too small for anyone else so you can't come." Bluestreak suddenly jerked Mirage out of Sideswipe's hold and began pulling him down the hallway. "C'mon Mirage."

"Well, _fine_ Blue!" Sideswipe called angrily after them. "We can tell when we're not wanted!"

Mirage looked back over his shoulder at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, a wordless apology on his face.

When they had rounded the corner, Mirage pulled his hand out of Bluestreak's grasp.

"_That_ was unnecessary."

"What do you mean?" asked Bluestreak.

"Why didn't you want them along? It would have been fun – Sunstreaker's movie commentary always makes me laugh. You were very rude to them."

Bluestreak continued walking, but now he had a scowl on his face. "Sideswipe shouldn't talk to you like that."

"Like what?"

"Like...like you're _his_."

They had reached room 237 – a small, out of the way room that had a single two-mech seating unit and a small computer terminal. A human VCR had been wired into the terminal to allow play back on the screen. One of the lighting units was broken, and the room was very dim and quiet. "Especially when you-you said you'd had a bad cycle. And you're scheduled to have an appointment now, so I thought it must have had to do with a bad interface and of course you wouldn't want to be pestered while you're trying to relax."

"Oh." Mirage was taken aback by Bluestreak's words. Sideswipe had really been behaving himself...for _Sideswipe_. But, he supposed it wouldn't have been as relaxing to watch the movie while also having to keep tabs on Sideswipe's hands. "Well, why don't we get started," he said, plopping himself down on the seat, and motioning to the screen.

Bluestreak smiled, and pulled the videocassette out of his subspace, and placed it in the VCR.

"Besides, Powerglide was just coming into land when my shift ended, and Tracks was coming in behind him, so I'm sure the rec room will be really noisy for awhile, you know how Powerglide likes to talk and brag, and once he gets going about what happened on the mission, then Tracks will have to tell everyone what _really_ happened, and I don't think we'd watch any of the movie at _all_-"

Mirage sat bolt upright on the couch.

"What? Powerglide is back?"

"Yeah, I guess they're done with mission," said Bluestreak as he returned to the couch and plopped down next to Mirage. "And then…" Bluestreak continued talking as he fastforwarded through the beginning credits.

Mirage did not hear a word of it. Powerglide and Tracks would be back tonight – and that meant that Hound would be only a day or so behind them! Warmth suffused Mirage's circuits as he relaxed against Bluestreak, smiling and feeling optimistic for the first time since the cycle had started.

* * *

Mirage stood up and stretched as the credits rolled. He was still feeling stiff from having to fold himself up to fit into Gears' berth.

"I should call it a day. Thank you very much Bluestreak, I enjoyed the movie immensely."

"Wait, Mirage." Bluestreak began fumbling in his subspace. "There's something else. I got you a gift, I hope you like it, because I tried to pick out something that was nice..." Bluestreak rambled on as he fumbled around in his subspace. Mirage waited patiently for him to find whatever it was he was looking for.

"...and then I thought maybe I should get you something you could _use_ and – oh here it is." Bluestreak triumphantly withdrew his gift from his subspace and held it out to Mirage.

"Oh, thank you, Bluestreak!" Mirage accepted the tin of wax graciously.

"I, uh, I didn't know what kind you like, but this one is blue and white and it had a race car that looks like you on the top, so I thought it must be okay-"

"It's more than okay Bluestreak, thank you." Mirage leaned over, and drew Bluestreak in an embrace, placing a kiss on his cheek plating. "You're very thoughtful, Bluestreak. This has certainly turned my cycle around. We'll have to use this during your next appointment."

Bluestreak beamed at him. "Um, would you like me to give you a wax right now, Mirage? You seem kind of stiff; maybe this would help you relax before you go recharge?" Bluestreak took Mirage's hand in his, and gave it a gentle tug.

"I don't know, Bluestreak, I'm very tired..."

"Please, Mirage?" Bluestreak looked up at him, optics wide and guileless. His hand left Mirage's, and gently caressed his plating. "I know you like a good polish, and I'd like to give you one."

Mirage didn't have the spark to say no. And the little trill of delight that Bluestreak gave when Mirage sat back down told him he'd made the right choice.

_Besides, it'll be nice to be pampered a bit. At least _Bluestreak_ knows how to show appreciation._

"I, um, I actually haven't done this much, I usually get Sunstreaker to do me, so tell me if I'm doing something wrong."

"Don't worry, Bluestreak, it's hard to mess up a wax."

Mirage relaxed as Bluestreak's hands spread the wax over his plating, rubbing it in with a small square of cloth. Bluestreak pulled on his shoulder axle, encouraging Mirage to recline against him. Mirage did so happily. He wasn't so naïve as to think that Bluestreak's gift didn't have an ulterior motive.

"Am I doing okay?" Bluestreak's voice was soft and quiet, whispering into his audio.

"Just wonderfully." Mirage pushed into the next stroke of the cloth a little, encouraging Bluestreak. The strokes were really very inefficient – long and slow, instead of short and hard. But he didn't mind. It was very soothing.

As he rested against Bluestreak, enjoying being fussed over, it occurred to Mirage that Bluestreak was spending the majority of his time polishing _certain_ areas. A smile quirked up the corner of Mirage's mouth as Bluestreak once again ran the cloth over Mirage's pelvic unit, lingering for an astrosecond on his panel.

Then Bluestreak's mouth pressed against one of Mirage's neck cables. Mirage smiled. The polishing cloth moved to Mirage's inner thigh and stayed there.

"Ah, ah, ah," Mirage tutted, lifting a hand to swat at Bluestreak playfully. "This is supposed to just be a _polish_."

"Can't help myself," said Bluestreak, his voice muffled against Mirage's plating. You're so...so _wonderful_."

"And you're so sweet for saying that." Mirage turned in Bluestreak's arms, until he was laying face-to-face with the other mech. "But," he said, leaning down to kiss Bluestreak, "I have to," another kiss, "go back to my quarters now." As he pushed himself up into a sitting position Bluestreak moaned at the loss of contact.

"Please stay, Mirage?" Bluestreak grabbed Mirage's hand, once again tugging on it to urge him to lay back down. "Please?"

"Oh, Bluestreak," Mirage turned and stood up. "You know what will happen if I stay-"

"_Yes_," moaned Bluestreak, standing up and wrapping his arms around Mirage. "Oh, yes."

"Bluestreak!" Mirage admonished. "You know you have to make an appointment for _that_." Quickly he pulled up his schedule to make sure he'd remembered to black out the times he needed for the next few weeks.

"Yeah." Bluestreak's face fell. "I'm sorry, Mirage." His embrace loosened.

"Now, why don't you rewind the tape for Carly, and go recharge." Mirage gave Bluestreak another kiss. "I'm sure I'll see you next cycle," he whispered into Bluestreak's audio.

"Yeah." Now Bluestreak was smiling broadly. "See – see you soon, Mirage. And here," he placed the tin of wax into Mirage's hand, "don't forget your gift. Will you...will you only use it...with me?"

"Of course. I'll save it especially for you." Mirage squeezed Bluestreak's hand as he walked towards the door. "Have a peaceful recharge, Bluestreak."

"You too, Mirage."

By the time Mirage made his way to his quarters, the hallways of the _Ark_ were all but deserted. When he reached his room, Mirage shut his door and leaned against it, letting air sigh out of his intakes. Spending time with Bluestreak really had relaxed him, but fending off the advances was tiring. He surveyed his room – a small, narrow berth against a wall, a desk, several shelves for personal items, and his one concession to vanity – a mirror. Getting one so large had been quite a feat, but a custom glassworks in Portland had been able to fulfill his request.

He flopped down onto the berth with a hum of contentment. He allowed his limbs to relax, enjoying the feeling of lounging in a position that was _comfortable_, rather than _attractive_. As the last remaining dregs of tension left him, Mirage allowed himself a small smile as he thought about the events of the day. Bluestreak had been so sweet, and even though his efforts were somewhat clumsy, the mere fact that he was making an _effort_ touched Mirage's spark. After he recharged, Mirage would have to check his schedule to see how many _more_ slots Bluestreak had taken.

Trailing his fingers over his chest plating, Mirage let his processor wander. He wondered how Hound was doing, making his way over land, back to the _Ark_. Thinking of Hound sent a small thrill through his struts. He'd still not overloaded after all the false starts with Gears, and Bluestreak's "polishing" session hadn't helped.

Usually Mirage didn't bother with tweaking his own circuits – why should he when there were so many mechs willing to do it for him? But right now...now he just wanted to be alone, to do what _he_ wanted to do.

The click of his panel opening and the hiss of his spike extending seemed loud in the silence of Mirage's quarters, but he paid no heed. Switching off his optics, Mirage continued to caress his nosecone and winglets as he allowed his processor to construct some suitable fantasy.

_Hound...yes,_ he thought, pulling Hound's specs from his memory chips. What would he like to do to Hound, if circumstances and chits weren't a concern? _Oh, so much..._

_Hound turned to him, optics shining in affection. Mirage crossed the room, taking Hound in his arms and pulling him close. The kiss they shared was searing, and Mirage was hard pressed to break it off – but Hound trembled in his arms._

"What's the matter, Hound?" asked Mirage. "Are you frightened?"

"Ah, just a little nervous, Mirage. I...I haven't done this before. Will it hurt?"

Mirage smiled at him, leading Hound to a large berth. The berth was against a wall, which was entirely transparent. The vast skyline of Iacon was laid out before them, lights twinkling in all of the spires, Cybertronians racing along its streets, no sign of the ravages of time and war visible anywhere.

"Sometimes it can at first, but then it's over, and it's wonderful_." Mirage leaned forward to kiss Hound, placing his hands on Hound's shoulders and pushing him down onto the berth. Every contour of Hound's frame was explored and loved, and Hound's hand were everywhere on him, too._

Mirage's movements over his own chassis quickened, and he lowered one hand to stroke and tease the plating around the base of his spike.

_Please, Mirage, please," Hound begged, completely undone by Mirage's expert manipulation. He writhed beneath Mirage, pushing at him, pulling at him, obviously unsure of what exactly he wanted. But Mirage knew._

"Relax, Hound," Mirage whispered into one audio. Hound stopped wiggling, but continued to tremble in his arms. Mirage held him close, soothing away his fears with the words, "..."

Mirage's motions stopped for a nanoklik. What could he say to Hound that would make him stop worrying, show him that Mirage would never harm him, prove that-

_I'll think them up later,_ he decided. _This is _my_ daydream and it's a pretty good one at that. Don't have to think up _every_ little thing._

That issue settled, Mirage returned to his pleasant fantasy.

_Hound, of course, was put entirely at ease by Mirage's eloquent and brilliant speech. He clung to Mirage, the depth of his ardor matched only by Mirage's passion._

As Mirage nibbled on a plating seam, his hand moved down Hound's body, until it finally rested over the small, secret panel between Hound's legs.

Hound immediately stiffened. He looked at Mirage anxiously, but beneath the apprehension, there was a boundless trust_ shining through._

"What is it, dearest Hound?" Mirage said. "Don't you trust me to take care of you?"

"Yes, oh, yes!" exclaimed Hound.

"Then open for me, let me in." Mirage continued tracing the seams of the panel, and after a klik, Hound quivered against him, and the panel slid open.

Mirage's optics brightened as Hound's interface components were revealed to him. They were shiny and new – untouched. Well, at least...

His hand ghosted over the spike housing, and Hound whimpered and pushed up against him, but Mirage moved on, further down...to Hound's new valve.

It was beautiful – perhaps not as ornate as Mirage's own, that wouldn't fit Hound's personality. But it would be perfectly proportioned, every component of the highest quality. Mirage sat up, moving between Hound's legs...

For a moment Mirage paused his fantasy, savoring the image. But what if Hound kept squirming? What if he didn't have the needed...restraint? Mirage envisioned a pair of stasis cuffs securing Hound's hands to the berth. Oh, that was _nice_.

Now he brought his hand to his spike, running his fingers lightly over the sensor-studded ridges. The action sent a wave of pleasure through him.

_"Oh, Mirage," cried Hound, struggling in his bonds. "Oh, _please_!"_

"What do you want, Hound? Tell me," Mirage said, his fingers tracing Hound's valve, rubbing past sensor nodes that had never been stimulated before. Hound cried out, bucking against him.

"I want you, I want your spike in me, Mirage, please! I can't stand it!" Hound's words cut off with a tiny cry as Mirage's fingertip pushed against his manufacturing seal.

"Relax," whispered Mirage as he leaned forward, covering Hound's trembling body. While one hand positioned his spike at Hound's entrance, his other caressed Hound's face, tilting it towards his own.

Mirage took his spike fully in hand, and began to stroke it firmly.

_He pressed his lips to Hound's, pushing his glossa inside, claiming Hound for his own._

At the same time, he pressed his pelvic unit forward. Hound stiffened against him, would have cried out as Mirage's spike breached his seal, but his yell was swallowed by Mirage's kiss.

Hound's valve was tight and new, no burrs or out of place plating to snag him. Mirage's spike was surrounded by an incredible slick heat, he could feel Hound's trembling against him, he could feel-

All of Mirage's struts spasmed as he overloaded, a hot rush of air escaping his vents. His spike emptied its transfluid into his hand, before retracting back into his pelvic unit.

_Well that didn't last long,_ he thought guiltily. _Sorry, Hound._ Mirage sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the berth. _But that was very nice...I might even be able to go another round._ He stood, and walked over to a shelf that was loaded with clean rags and a bottle of solvent. _What if Hound's external sensors _weren't_ untouched? What if he'd been a bad mech and had used them before he was supposed to? He'd need to be disciplined..._

Suddenly Mirage caught sight of himself in the mirror. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring.

_Oh Primus._ He dug Bluestreak's wax out of his subspace, and read the label. _Oh, _no...

Frantically Mirage activated his comm. _Oh, Primus, please let him be back by now…_

_"This is Blaster blastin' at ya! How's the raciest race car this side of the Cascades?"_

"Blaster! Is Tracks back yet? It's an emergency."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, he rolled in about forty-five minutes ago. You wanna chat with my cool cat?"

"Yes, yes please."

There was a short pause, a few murmurs, and another voice spoke.

_"Tracks here."_

"Tracks! This is Mirage. You have to help me, I'm in big trouble."

"What's the matter? What's going on?"

"No time to explain, just bring stripping compound, wax, and lots of cotton towels to my room. Egyptian cotton!"

"You know I wouldn't use any other kind!"

"Please just hurry."

"This sounds like a crisis. I…I suppose Blaster can wait a few joors."

"I'm so sorry for pulling you away right after you got back, I just don't know who else would be able to help. I have extra wax and towels in my locker in the 'racks."

"I'll be there in a few kliks. Tracks out."

While he waited for Tracks, Mirage paced back and forth nervously. He didn't dare try to fix this with solvent in his quarters– what if it _reacted_ in some way? He thought back over his walk from room 237. Had anyone _seen_? No, he hadn't run across anyone, but what about the security cameras? There was bound to have been someone watching the monitors in Command!

The door chime pinged.

"Yes, come in!"

"I brought some clay bars too, Mirage, just in case-" Tracks' words cut off as he caught sight of Mirage. "Primus! _What_ happened to your paint job?"

Mirage looked down at himself miserably. There were streaks of wax _everywhere_...except for his nosecone and panel. _Those_ were shined to an optic-blinding mirror-finish.

"Bluestreak happened," he said. In addition to the streaks, a thick film coated his plating where Bluestreak had _not_ concentrated his efforts.

Tracks made a strangled sort of sound, and covered his mouth with his hand.

"Something _amusing?_"

"No." Tracks cycled his vocoder. "Not at all. What did he _use_?" Tracks stepped forward, rubbing at a streak on Mirage's arm plating with a fingertip.

"That's the worst part." Mirage handed Tracks the blue and white tin. "_Synthetic_ wax. _Earth_ synthetic wax."

Tracks gasped in horror.

"And it was _generic_. I don't even know where he found it! _Store brand!_"

Tracks collapsed in hysterics, going to his knee-joints as he laughed so hard he lost the ability to stand.

"This isn't funny!" fumed Mirage.

"Oh-oh ho ho ho, yesitis!" Tracks could barely get the words out through his hilarity. "You – you can tell which parts he was paying attention to!"

Mirage looked down at his _incredibly_ shiny panel. Maybe it was a _little_ funny.

"Wait wait wait – turn around!" Tracks said. Puzzled, Mirage obeyed. This kicked off another guffaw from Tracks. "Primus, your _aft!_ I can _see_ myself in it!"

"_Tracks_! This is _serious_."

"Ahem, yes, sorry." Tracks rebooted his vocoder a few times as he regained control of himself. "Well, we have to fix it – you _can't_ go around looking like this."

"Tracks, what am I going to do? Bluestreak said he wanted to wax me again! He'll want to use this stuff!"

"You can't let your finish be _ruined_ for the sake of Bluestreak's _feelings_," Tracks pointed out.

"Do _you_ want to be the one to tell him his gift is slag?" Mirage said, putting his hands on his hips.

"Point." Tracks patted the floor next to him. "Sit," he said as he opened the container of stripping compound. "Grab a towel and let's get to work. We can think up solutions while we fix that finish of yours."

With two sets of hands, the wax came off more quickly than Mirage had thought it would, but it was still hard work, especially in the areas where Bluestreak had actually made an effort. After a breem of twisting around, trying to see his own back plating, Tracks finally stepped in.

"All right, Mirage. You won't be able to get that yourself. Up on your hands and knees."

Mirage sighed in resignation, but there was nothing for it. He obeyed Tracks' directions, presenting his aft for scrutiny.

"Pitfire, Blue really went to town on you, didn't he?" Tracks said as he began stripping away the wax on Mirage's aft. "There's even some built up in your _seams!_"

Mirage grunted as he was rocked forward as Tracks wiped at his plating with firm, businesslike strokes.

Eventually Tracks broke the silence. "Do you think he would notice if the wax was...different?"

"What do you mean?" asked Mirage, looking over his shoulder wheel at Tracks.

"Like, what if it was a different color or texture?"

"I think it's obvious that Bluestreak wasn't paying too much attention to the _wax_."

Tracks chortled a bit. "Well, I have an idea – what if we replace _that_ nasty stuff with some carnauba wax? It'll be yellow instead of white, but you could just tell him that human wax does that when it's opened."

"Hmmm, that's a thought." Mirage turned the idea over in his processor. "Yes, I'm sure it will work. But...what if we run out and he buys _more_?"

"Don't worry about that – just let me know and we can swap it out again." Tracks rubbed at Mirage's aft a bit more, and then sat back. "I think that's the last of it," he declared. "No, stay there." Tracks said when Mirage made to stand up. "I'll wax you _properly_ now – at least the parts you can't reach."

"Thanks, Tracks," Mirage said, lowering his head to rest on his arms. "You really saved my plating."

"Think nothing of it – I'm honored that you thought to come to me for help."

The re-waxing was done quickly, and soon Mirage was examining himself in the mirror, turning to and fro, making sure that every last piece of plating was flawless.

"Turn around," said Tracks, moving his index digit in a circle to illustrate. "Let me look at you."

Mirage turned for inspection, and apart from a few little smudges that Tracks buffed away, the other mech declared his plating "suitable for public consumption."

"Now, do you have any place to put..._this_?" Tracks held out Bluestreak's container of wax.

"Yes, hold on – I have a jar of chrome polish that's almost out. We can put it in there."

Moving the inferior wax from one receptacle to another was ticklish work, especially when neither mech really wanted to touch it.

"Ugh, how did you _stand_ it when he was rubbing this on you? It's so abrasive!" Tracks said with a look of utter disgust on his faceplates.

"I don't want to think about it. Is that the last?" asked Mirage.

"Yes – don't worry, I'll dispose of this properly. Are you going to be all right now?"

"Yes, I'll be fine. Thank you so much for your help, Tracks." Mirage bent and helped Tracks gather up the rest of his supplies. "I don't know what I would have done without you." He walked with Tracks to the door, and drew him into an embrace. "Give Blaster my greetings – and tell him I'm sorry for stealing you away so soon after you came back."

"I will, Mirage. Have a good evening."

* * *

"...and so other than the elevation changes, there really haven't been many alterations that will influence future maneuvers around the _Victory_. Most of the activity is standard construction and shoring, with a smattering of energy extraction projects. Any questions?" Tracks asked as he finished his report.

"As long as the Decepticons don't interfere with human energy operations or pose an environmental risk, I see no need to disrupt their project," said Optimus Prime. He stood from his seat at the head of the table. "Dismissed."

Mirage stood up quickly to turn and scan the back of the room to see if Hound had slipped in late, but there was no trace of Hound's comforting energy signature on his sensors. Why was Hound not back yet? Brawn had arrived just before the meeting started, and he and Hound should have been traveling together! Mirage knew that he shouldn't worry; that if Hound was in trouble or injured he would be notified, but he couldn't help it.

The room filled with the noises of mechs standing, chairs being pushed around, and general chatter as everyone began filing out of the room.

"Mirage, could you wait a moment, I have something for you," Prowl said over the din.

Mirage nodded, and stood waiting by the table until the last of the mechs filed out.

"This was attached to Hound's last report. I believe it is for you." Prowl handed Mirage a datapad. "I apologize; I read the first paragraph before realizing-"

"Oh, that's quite all right, thank you, Prowl." Mirage took the datapad and tucked it into his subspace. "I'll read it in my quarters."

Prowl nodded, falling in behind Mirage as they left the conference room. "Enjoy the rest of your-"

"Mirage!" Mirage's spark sank as he heard a familiar voice call out his name. "I was- oh. I'm sorry, sir."

Bluestreak fell into silence when he saw that Mirage was talking to Prowl. Prowl simply nodded at him in acknowledgment, and continued on down the hallway.

"Hey, Mirage, do you want to go get some energon? I just got off shift and I thought you might want some after your meeting because someone said that it had a pretty big agenda, and I didn't know if you'd had time to refuel this morning."

"I don't really need to refuel now, Bluestreak..." Mirage said. He desperately wanted to return to his room, to read Hound's letter in private.

"Please, Mirage?"

Mirage couldn't say no, not when Bluestreak used _that_ voice and looked at him with _that_ expression. A feeling of anger flared in his spark – slaggit, _he_ wanted some time to himself! But he smothered it just as quickly. It didn't cost him anything to be friendly with Bluestreak, and besides, despite his chatter, the young mech was enjoyable company.

"Alright Bluestreak, I'll split a cube with you." Mirage fixed a smile on his face. Bluestreak grinned back at him, and quickly moved to place an arm around Mirage's waist components. Any annoyance Mirage felt at the liberty was quickly subsumed when he thought about how shy and skittish Bluestreak had been during their first encounter.

"That's great! And the sun is actually out today so afterwards we could go for a drive and I could show you this cool rock Ironhide and I found on patrol today and we could see that grove of oaks where the leaves are changing colors you know it's nice that there's so many firs around here because they're green all year round but then I look at pictures Carly brings from Massachusetts and I think it would be nice if we had more deciduous trees-"

"Wait, wait!" Mirage exclaimed. "I said I could split a cube with you, but I'll have to go after that."

"What? Why?" Bluestreak looked at him with hurt and bewildered optics. For a moment Mirage's resolve wavered. But then it hardened again.

"I have things I need to do today, Bluestreak. And I also have several appointments. The drive sounds lovely, but I just _can't_." Mirage softened his words by pressing closer to Bluestreak.

"Oh." Bluestreak's doors drooped in disappointment. "I understand, Mirage."

Anything more Bluestreak would have said was cut off as they entered the rec room. Quite a few Autobots were present, as both a shift and the meeting had just ended. As Bluestreak filled a cube, Mirage looked around. He spotted Trailbreaker, Cliffjumper, and Smokescreen sitting at a table with a few empty seats. When Bluestreak finished filling the cube, Mirage began walking towards the table. A pleasant conversation with his friends would be just-

Suddenly Bluestreak was between him and the table. Although they were still moving forward, Mirage found himself walking on a bending line as Bluestreak herded him towards a deserted table in the corner. Bluestreak immediately pulled out a chair for Mirage, one that would mean sitting with his back towards the room.

Mirage gave him a tight smile, but sat without protest.

Bluestreak took the seat next to him, scooting it a few centi-mechanometers closer to Mirage as he did so.

"Did your shift go well, Bluestreak?" asked Mirage. He obligingly picked up the cube and took a sip when Bluestreak nudged in his direction.

"Yes, it went fine, but Ironhide wanted to make a check up the service road into BLM land, and they use that pea gravel that gets up into my undercarriage, and we kept having to transform to get over the access gates so it was pretty tedious, almost like an obstacle course, maybe that's why Ironhide wanted to go up there, he loves things like that…"

Mirage smiled and nodded at the appropriate points – he was becoming quite _practiced_ in the art of conversing with Bluestreak.

"-and the n Ironhide caught Dirge on the edge of his scanner range, but he seemed to be going somewhere, not on patrol, so he didn't spot us, which was good, but it's also bad, I guess, because that means he's probably up to something for Megatron-"

"What was Dirge's heading?" interrupted Mirage.

"His heading was magnetic north, they like to navigate that way until they get to the latitude they want, so unless we followed to find out at what coordinates he deviated from it…"

"Mmmhmm," murmured Mirage, reaching out and taking another sip from the cube. His thoughts wandered again to the datapad tucked into his subspace. What was so important that Hound had felt it necessary to write to him personally? Of course, Mirage _hoped_ it was a personal message, but he knew that Hound was professional, and it was just as likely to contain information Mirage would find useful the next time he infiltrated the _Victory_.

"…though it was really funny the time Skywarp 'ported into the Gold Hill vortex area, remember that, Mirage? He kept going in a big circle!"

"Hum? Oh, yes, that was amusing. Even with a seekers-optic view, relying too much on one type of navigation point can cause problems," said Mirage as Bluestreak paused to take a few swallows from the cube. Taking advantage of the silence Mirage pushed back his chair, preparing to leave. "It was very nice chatting, but I have some duties I must attend to."

"Oh! Of course." Bluestreak jumped to his feet, and pulled Mirage's chair out for him, helping him to his pedes.

…At least, that seemed to be the general idea. In reality, his interference almost overbalanced Mirage and for a moment, he worried he was going to have to put his hand right down into the energon cube to keep from falling. However, aeons of Towers training in poise and grace served Mirage well, and he recovered with minimal awkwardness.

"Have a good rest of the day, Mirage." Bluestreak gave him a quick hug and peck on the side of his mouth. "I hope we can talk again soon."

Mirage laughed.

"Bluestreak, you have an appointment tomorrow."

"Oh! Right. Um. Ha ha, I'd forgotten," Bluestreak said. "I'll see you then?"

"Of course. Do you want me to come to your quarters? You didn't specify a meeting place in your request."

"Oh. Actually, I think Cliffjumper said something about staying in – will I have to cancel my appointment?" The look of worried earnestness on Bluestreak's face was absolutely _sparkmelting_.

"No, don't worry – lots of mechs have scheduling conflicts with their roommates. I've always managed to find a quiet place for appointments. Though there is always the game table in the rec room," said Mirage with a saucy smile.

Bluestreak looked horrified.

"I couldn't do that, Mirage! Oh, no, I can't, I don't-"

"Calm down Bluestreak," Mirage laughed and pulled him close to give him a reassuring kiss on his helm. "I was teasing you. I'll find a _private_ place – a place just for us."

"I can't wait."

* * *

Mirage arrived in his quarters with only a breem to spare before he had to leave for his next appointment.

_At least it's Optimus, and he's never on time so I'll have a few extra kliks to get ready,_ he thought as he crossed the room and sat on his berth.

The datapad that held Hound's letter seemed to take forever to boot up.

When the screen activated, Mirage realized why Prowl had mistaken it for an official communiqué at first – the heading and salutation had been corrupted during transit.

> …there are so many things to see down here that sometimes I think the Decepticons have the right idea with an underwater base. Maybe it's just because I'm not used to it, but I find it very hard to be stealthy down here – it seems like the sealife can sense our approach even earlier than the land animals and give away our presence. How do you do it? I'm always in awe of the way you move underwater without disturbing a single creature. Would you be willing to teach me? Or is it an innate property of your frame type? I can't wait to come back and hear about everything I've missed while I was away. I've constructed several holograms so I can show you some of the fascinating creatures I've seen on this trip. There's even a crustacean that I think looks kind of like a turbofox. Brawn says it doesn't, so you'll have to settle the matter for us, since you know more about turbofoxes than anyone.

Mirage let out an exasperated huff but he smiled fondly at the thought of Hound taking the time during a dangerous mission into enemy territory to study the local lifeforms. It was so…_Hound_.

> A school of fish that were almost as big as Brawn came close to our position the other day. They were colored just like you, Mirage – blue and chrome. And they were fast like you too! I clocked one at 65 hics per joor!
> 
> But then I remember the wildlife that lives around the _Ark_, and I know I would never want leave that. Do you remember when we recharged on the lookout rock after we had an appointment, and saw a herd of elk in the morning? I still remember how they looked in the morning fog with the sunlight shining through it. I remember how you looked, too. All of the dewdrops on your plating sparkled. As beautiful as this planet is, I don't think I will ever see anything as beautiful as you, stretched out in the sunshine, laughing. Do you remember what was so funny? I'm afraid that detail has been cleared from my cache, but the memory of you will never be erased from my hard drive.

Mirage's circuits heated as he read Hound's words, and remembered the morning he was referencing. He suddenly felt _bashful_, even though there was no one else around. Self-consciousness was almost a foreign emotion to Mirage, but…it wasn't entirely unwelcome. Hound had so many friends – it was nice to know that he had a special place in his spark.

> I've seen so many things I want to share with you, and the fact that Seaspray and I won't be able to return with Powerglide, Tracks, and Brawn means that I will have to wait even longer.

Mirage slumped, bowing his head and switching off his optics. _Oh, Hound, what are you doing, you silly mech? Don't you know _I_ miss you too?_ Composing himself, he read on.

> As we were preparing to pull out, a sneaker wave caused a cargo vessel to run aground on a sandbar near Coos Bay, just south of our position. The vessel was empty, but it spilled quite a bit of oil and fuel into the ocean, and into a shorebird nesting area. I've attached a few photos of some of the birds so you can see why I couldn't just leave them. There are many humans here too, and I'm helping them rescue and clean the birds.

_Hound, forget about those slagging birds, _I_ need you!_ But even as the thought crossed his processor, Mirage knew that Hound's very selflessness was what endeared him to Mirage. He wouldn't be Hound if he didn't help.

> With all the resources we have, it shouldn't take more than a week, and Seaspray is helping the Coast Guard clean up the spill.
> 
> I'm counting every astrosecond until I can return, Mirage. Stay safe and happy until I can – while away, I realized something very important, and I want to tell you about it when we're together again.
> 
> Your friend, Hound.

For several long moments, Mirage stared at the datapad, tracing the lines of text with a finger tip. Suddenly his chronometer, who's increasingly urgent chimes Mirage had been ignoring, beeped at him and refused to stop until he acknowledged it.

He was already a five kliks late for his appointment with Optimus Prime.

"Oh, _Pit_."

Mirage tossed the datapad aside and bolted out of his room, activating his electrodisruptor as he crossed the threshold. First Inferno and now _Optimus Prime_! Mirage resolved to not let tardiness become a habit. He made his way quickly through the corridors until he reached the officer's hall and punched his code in the door, cursing quietly when he missed one of the digits and had to start over. Finally the door slid open and Mirage ducked inside.

Optimus Prime and Ironhide both looked up from a holo-schematic of the _Ark_ as he entered. Mirage started to blurt an apology, but then Ironhide said uncertainly "…Mirage?"

_Oh. Right._ Sheepishly, Mirage deactivated his electrodisruptor.

"I do apologize, sir, I thought-"

"That I would be late? You don't have to apologize for rudimentary pattern recognition, Mirage," Optimus Prime interrupted, his optics brightening in amusement. "We're almost finished, feel free to wait in the berthroom."

"Of course, sir." Mirage nodded to Ironhide as he passed, and slipped into the doorway that led to Optimus Prime's berth. He didn't bother to activate the lighting unit, and found his way to the berth by memory. For a few kliks, all he could hear was the hum of his own systems and the low murmur of voices in the next room. His dash to Optimus Prime's quarters had not done anything to dissipate the heat that had suffused his systems while reading Hound's letter, but that was all for the best. Mirage began to aimlessly stroke and caress his hood and helm, thinking about what Hound had written.

He was brought out of his musings by the external door hissing open and closed, and a heavy tread approaching the berthroom. Optimus Prime appeared in the doorway, his large frame silhouetted by the light from the common area.

Mirage sat up, supporting himself with one arm as he curled his legs beneath him. "Optimus," he whispered, dimming his optics and continuing to touch himself. "_Oh_, Optimus."

Optimus Prime crossed the room in two long strides, and grabbed Mirage's wrists, holding them in a firm but gentle grip while taking most of Mirage's weight. Mirage didn't struggle, but extended his arms, lowering himself down to the berth. Optimus Prime seated himself on the edge of the berth and leaned over him, his facemask sliding aside, revealing his features.

"Mirage," whispered Optimus Prime as he captured Mirage's lips in a passionate kiss. He rocked Mirage's head back, supporting his helm with the crook of one arm. Mirage moaned as Optimus Prime's glossa pushed past his lips.

Mirage's cooling fans were running at high speed when Optimus Prime finally pulled away. Eager to continue, Mirage reached for him again, but Prime caught his hand and held it, meeting his optics with a serious expression. "Is everything all right, Mirage?" he asked. "It's been so long since we've spoken."

Mirage looked up in surprise. "No, Optimus. Everything is fine. Why do you ask?" Mirage pulled his hand free and reached up to trace Optimus' mandible with the back of his fingers.

"You are so rarely late, I was concerned that something might have kept you. Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"Oh, no! I, uh, I lost track of time."

Optimus continued to stare into his optics, and Mirage found the urge to tell him more impossible to resist.

"Hound, um, included a letter in with his report. A personal letter. To me."

"I see." A concerned frown creased Optimus Prime's brow. "Did it upset you?"

Now Mirage looked down, unable to meet his gaze. "No, not at all," he said, unable to stop a smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. A fresh flush of heat surged through his chassis – pressed together like this, it would be impossible for Optimus to miss.

"Aaah. _That_ kind of letter."

The temperature of Mirage's internals climbed a few more degrees, and Optimus laughed. Not a mocking laugh, but a warm, deep chuckle that prompted a laugh of Mirage's own.

After it had died down, Optimus Prime again took Mirage's hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his knuckle-joints before climbing fully onto the berth, reclining on his side next to Mirage. He was silent for a few moments, gazing into Mirage's optics. The depth of caring in his expression warmed Mirage's spark – he always felt so _safe_ with Optimus, so _loved_.

"Mirage," he said finally, reaching out to stroke Mirage's cheek plating. "You know that if you ever find yourself …unhappy… with our current arrangement, for _any_ reason, you need only say that you'd prefer to end it."

"Optimus!" Mirage exclaimed. "I _enjoy_ this! I want to – really." He smiled and pressed up against Optimus' chest plating. "Why would you think I wouldn't want to?"

"I don't want you to continue doing something you don't want to do because you feel a sense of obligation."

"I understand, and I appreciate your concern." Mirage smiled, flashing his optics mischievously. "However, your concern would be _slightly_ more convincing if you didn't have your hand on my aft."

"Oh? What if I put my hand _here_?"

"_Ooooh!_ Yes, that's _very_ convincing."

* * *

Mirage turned his audios up to their highest gain as he peered cautiously around the corner.

_All's clear._ He crept forward to the next intersection, keeping his pede-falls light and stealthy. Just a few more junctions and he would be safe –

"Hey!"

Mirage's spark dropped into his fuel tank as the shout echoed down the hall, the sound of running pedes close behind. He'd been spotted!

"Hey, wait up, Prowl!"

He froze as Prowl turned the corner, not wishing to give away his position by affecting the air currents that moved around Prowl's doors. Jazz came running, catching up as Prowl paused.

"Jazz, it is not appropriate for a senior officer to _run_ in a non-emergency situation."

"Yeah, yeah, I need to run this duty roster by you before I post it…"

Their voices faded as the pair made their way down the corridor. Mirage relaxed slightly, and moved on. He waited for a few moments outside of a door, until the security camera across the hall swiveled away. No telling _who_ was watching the monitors.

A message notification popped up in Mirage's HUD. Cautiously, he opened it.

> Mirage,
> 
> Inferno has informed me that you have accepted my proposal. Thank you for accommodating my request. I also thank you for your _discretion_. I have looked over your schedule; however, your time seems to be in high demand. I thought it best, then, if I sent you a list of times when both Inferno and I are available, and you pick which one is most convenient for you. Please let me know if none of the times work for you – Inferno and I are willing to move shifts around if necessary. I would like to host the appointment in my personal quarters.
> 
> Thank you for your time and effort,  
> Red Alert  
> Security Director  
> 2nd Fleet, Vanguard Class Deep Space Interceptor 476.2

Mirage heaved a sigh through his vents and opened up his schedule. He'd _talked_ to Bluestreak about scheduling _every_ spare moment of his time with Mirage, but it didn't seem to stick. Even after having an appointment the night before, Bluestreak already had _three_ pending requests. He looked through his schedule, trying to figure out where to fit in Red Alert and Inferno. He finally settled on a block of time he'd reserved for Hound's homecoming, since Hound's return looked to be a ways off yet. He quickly reserved it under Red Alert's name, and had an automated message sent informing Red Alert and Inferno of their time slot.

A vague sense of guilt settled over his spark as he continued on his way through the _Ark_. He shouldn't be skulking around like this, but if he wanted to do something as simple as _get energon_ without being accosted, it seemed like he had to take more and more drastic measures.

It wasn't as if he didn't _like_ Bluestreak. His company was enjoyable, and while his sense of humor often trended towards the juvenile brand favored by Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, he could often get Mirage to laugh. He really didn't deserve to be _avoided_ wholesale like a bad case of cosmic rust.

But over the last few days Bluestreak had demonstrated an uncanny ability to appear wherever Mirage happened to be, always with some form of superficial entertainment that he thought Mirage might like coincidentally close at hand. It was sweet, but wearing.

Mirage slipped into the commissary behind Skids, and tucked himself into a shadowy alcove while he scanned the room. All clear. For a moment he debated leaving the electro disruptor on while getting his energon, but _that_ would certainly cause more of a disturbance and more uncomfortable questions.

A loud burst of laughter caused Mirage to look over at one of the tables. Trailbreaker had his head thrown back, laughing at something Hoist had said. They were sitting with Blaster, who also looked amused. Mirage desperately wanted to sit with them – but that would mean exposing himself for-

Mirage shook himself. He was falling into the processing patterns he used while out on missions in enemy territory. This was the _Ark_. He didn't have to worry about _exposure_ here. Making sure no one was looking in his direction, Mirage quickly dropped his cloak and walked out confidently to the energon dispenser.

"Hey, Mirage, haven't seen you around much," said Smokescreen, who walked up as he was finishing pouring his cube.

"Hello," Mirage said, smiling over the rim of his cube. "Yes, I suppose I have been busier than usual lately. I hope you've been keeping yourself out of trouble?"

"Best behavior! Autobot honor!" Smoke screen held his hand up in a mock salute.

"Glad to hear it," Mirage said over his shoulder as he walked away, towards the table where Trailbreaker and the others were sitting.

He relaxed even more when he slid into the vacant seat next to Hoist, and the happy greetings of his friends washed over him. _This is more like it._ Until he had sought them out, Mirage hadn't realized how much he missed socializing with his comrades. He remained taciturn for the most part, laughing at the appropriate places and sipping from his cube, but the simple companionship was more satisfying than the energon.

"Have you received any more letters from Hound, Mirage?" asked Trailbreaker during a lull in the conversation.

"No, I-" Mirage's optics narrowed as he peered suspiciously at Trailbreaker's grinning face. "How did you know about that letter?"

"Oh, I have my sources. But if you must know, Hound sent me one, too, and mentioned yours in it." Trailbreaker gave an unhappy sigh. "He wanted me to come to Coos Bay to help with the clean up. I really wanted to, but…"

"But time and tide wait for no mech," laughed Blaster. "Or Prowl, when he has a project for you."

Mirage opened his mouth to tease Blaster about his co-opted human slang when the soft _hiss_ of the nearest door sliding open reached his audios. He stiffened and craned his neck watch the doorway warily. His spark sank when he saw a blue and gray frame moving in the shadows beyond, coming closer…

Windcharger walked through the door, rubbing at a bit of scraped plating on his arm with a polishing cloth. Mirage let a burst of air escape from his vents and turned back to his friends.

"…of course I'm sure _you're_ happy that Tracks is less…altruistic towards organics than Hound is, Blaster." Trailbreaker was teasing. "Otherwise we'd have to put up with _both_ you and Mirage moping around."

"Hey!" Mirage objected. "I do not _mope_," he added with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Well then what do you call hiding out in your quarters for the last two days, Mirage?"

"I haven't been…" Mirage trailed off as he noticed Trailbreaker staring at something just beyond his shoulder wheel.

"_Ahem_."

The quiet sound of someone cycling their vocoder came from behind Mirage. Slowly, he turned.

Gears and Brawn stood behind him. Brawn looked grumpy, but that was normal, and Gears …was _smiling_. At least, that was what Mirage thought he was doing. At first, he thought Gears was grimacing in pain, but that couldn't be right, because Mirage had never known Gears to be hurt and not be telling everyone in sensor range about it. What was this?

"Go on," hissed Gears out of the corner of his mouth, as he elbowed Brawn in the side.

"You just want me to _say_ it?"

"Just do it!"

"Fine. Pit. This had better work," grumbled Brawn. He cycled his vocoder again, and recited in a put-upon tone, "I Brawn, hereby affirm and attest and all that slag that Gears," here he gave his companion a solid whack to the arm strut, "has not complained or griped or anything like that for a whole planetary rotation, and that even though he tried really hard it took him a few days to get it right. So according to the verbal contract proposed by you, Mirage, at the termination of your last appointment, Gears is entitled to schedule appointments again. Would you please allow him to do this so that I don't have to follow him around and listen to everything the fragger says anymore?"

For a moment Mirage was speechless. The other mechs at the table were silent with astonishment. Mirage shot a sideways glance at them. Trailbreaker was staring at Gears and Brawn with his mouth hanging open. Blaster had turned away, frame quivering with the effort not to laugh. Even _Hoist_, with his visor and faceplate managed to look surprised.

"Um, yes, Gears. You may schedule appointments again." Mirage hadn't actually thought that Gears would take his extemporaneous remark _seriously_.

"Thank Primus." Brawn spun on his heel, transformed and zoomed away, exiting out the far door. Gears remained where he was, _smiling_.

It was sending shivers up Mirage's backstrut.

"Yes, Gears? Is there anything else you'd like?"

"There's no more appointment slots left."

Mirage frowned and opened up his schedule. As Gears had said, all of his open spots had been filled with pending requests…mostly by Bluestreak.

"Not that I'm complaining," Gears said hurriedly. "I think it's wonderful that you're so popular."

Behind him, Blaster made a high pitched, choking sound.

"Well, I'm sure I can fit you in soon, Gears." Mirage decided he would simply have to deny one of Bluestreak's requests, and have another talk with him. This was really getting out of hand! "Send me your schedule, and I'll figure something out."

The door at the far end of the hall hissed open.

"…but then I thought that maybe it _wasn't_ just a rock, and so I went over to investigate and that's when Blitzwing showed up and you know that when Blitzwing is around Astrotrain isn't too far behind so I hid and then…"

"In fact why don't we have one _right now?_" Mirage stood up and grabbed Gears' hand in his own, pulling him along as he made for the egress at the opposite end of the commissary, leaving his friends staring after him in shock.

"What? Now?" Mirage's sudden action appeared to have startled the grin off of Gears' face, but when Mirage looked back at him he quickly fixed his smile in place again.

"Yes. Now." Mirage slowed marginally when they passed through the door into the hall.

"But I have monitor duty in-"

"I'm sure we'll be done by then."

"But-"

Mirage turned and fixed Gears with a sharp glare.

"Gosh, Mirage, I'm so glad that you're willing to make time on short notice for me!"

The rest of the walk to Gears' quarters was conducted in silence. The pair drew their share of startled looks as they passed through the corridors. Gears' smile was likely the cause for most of the double-takes.

When they reached Gears' door, Mirage quickly tapped in his code and pushed Gears through the door.

"Of course Brawn left his slag all over," muttered Gears as he kicked aside a datapad on the floor. "But at least it reminds me how lucky I am to have such a swell roommate!" he added cheerfully.

A chill went down Mirage's backstrut.

He looked at Gears.

Gears looked back, his wide smile never wavering. Seeing him looking cheerful just wasn't _natural_.

Mirage waited for a few moments, wondering if Gears was going to say anything that might give Mirage some hint about what he might want from his "appointment". After another klik of silence, Mirage decided to take control of the situation before the awkwardness got out of hand.

He gave Gears a smile of his own, but one more subdued, one that was full of …_promise_. Sinking down to the floor, Mirage stretched his legs out, leaning on one arm as he ran a hand over the floor plating. "Gears," he purred. "Why don't you come down here with me?" There was no way in the Pit Mirage was contorting himself to get on Gears' berth.

"All right, Mirage." Gears knelt down next to him, then looked at him expectantly, manic smile never wavering.

"Um…right." Mirage bent his arm slowly, lowering his upper chassis and arranging himself in an attractive curve. He had to get into the right processor mode for an appointment, but staring at Gears' static smile was just…not helpful. Maybe if he couldn't see it…

"Mmmm," Mirage hummed, switching off his optics. He lifted a hand to caress his own chassis, running his fingers over his sensor nexus and the crest on his helm. "Oh, _Gears_." The touching was working for him, at least – after a klik he could feel his systems start to speed up in response to the sensations he was creating within his own frame.

Gears shifted next to him, and one cautious, gentle hand gripped his shoulder before sliding down, tracing the curves and valleys of Mirage's alt-mode reverently. Mirage arched into the touch, reaching up to grab the wandering hand with his own, guiding it to the gap between his armor panels, where sensitive wires ran close to the surface.

He could feel Gears rebalance his weight as pressure increased and decreased unsteadily on the plating beneath the hand. A solid weight settled on his hips as blunt fingertips teased his sensors. Gears' other hand reached up to Mirage's shoulder, squeezing his tire and tracing the rim. A hot gust of air washed over his face plate as Gears leaned in close.

"Oh _yes_ Gears, that feels-" Mirage cut off as he activated his optics. Gears' maniacal grin was still in place, and now only a handspan away from his face. "-Very nice."

"I'm glad we're on the floor, Mirage – the grit in my bearings will remind me that I need to borrow Bumblebee's cleaning drone tomorrow."

Mirage didn't quite know how to respond to that.

And that slagging smile was getting _eerie_.

Coming to a quick decision, Mirage slipped an arm around Gears' neck and pulled him close, pressing their lips together. After all, Gear had to stop smiling to _kiss_, didn't he?

No, he did not. Gears' lip plating remained hard and immobile beneath Mirage's, even when he nibbled seductively at the corner of Gears' mouth.

_Scratch that plan._ Mirage ceased his efforts and lay back down, staring at the ceiling. He ran his hands over Gears' chest plating, and tried to think.

Eventually he decided it would be best to simply get down to business. _That_ would take care of this foolishness.

"Gears, _please_," he said, strategic bursts of static issuing from his vocoder. Mirage gave his internal fans a little kickstart – they would be activating soon from Gears' hands on his frame anyways. No harm in getting them going early, he decided, especially to help speed things along.

Mirage unlatched his interface panel cover, and retracted it slowly. With a needy moan, he pushed his pelvic unit up, pressing and rubbing it against Gears.

At least Gears seemed to take the hint, and followed suit quickly, opening his own pelvic armor and extending his spike. However, as he guided himself into Mirage's valve, he locked optics with Mirage, his wide grin never wavering. The effect was so spooky that Mirage did not even acknowledge his valve's sensor feeds informing him of the intrusion. It was only when Gears gave a forceful push that Mirage let out a small noise of surprise and discomfort. He quickly adjusted himself so that Gears wasn't poking that particular sensor cluster.

He tried to relax, leaning his helm back to the floor, making the appropriate noises – Gears was, in all technical aspects at least, a decent interface partner. He moved his spike in such a way that he hit as many sensor nodes as he could, and had good stamina.

But Mirage couldn't concentrate, knowing _that grin_ was hovering over him. He tried turning off his optics once more.

_Just don't think about it – enjoy what he's doing down there. Oh yes, _that_ feels nice, some more right there, please…just don't-_

"Gosh, Mirage, your valve is nice and…and spacious. It gives me lots of room to maneuver."

_-activate your vocoder again._

"I'm sure lots of other mechs like that about it, too."

Mirage's optics activated, and for a few nanokliks he opened and closed his mouth noiselessly, trying to queue up words in his vocoder to respond.

"Isn't there anything… wrong, Gears?" he finally asked, deciding that giving Gears more input on what, exactly, was appropriate to say about someone's interfacing equipment would lead to even more disastrous attempts at compliments.

"Why -_unh_\- would there be anything wrong, Mirage?" Gears' said through clenched denta, apparently unwilling to break his smile even to _talk_. "Everything's _great_."

This had to _stop_.

"Gears," sighed Mirage. "You have successfully proven yourself able to be cheerful for the required amount of time. You don't have to do it anymore."

Gears' thrusts paused.

"What? Really?"

"Really. In fact, _please_ don't. It's…unsettling."

Gears looked at him for a moment. Mirage suspected he was trying to gauge Mirage's sincerity, but since his face was still frozen in a rictus grin, Mirage had no way of knowing.

"Thank Primus!" Gears' face fell into its familiar scowl, and he growled in pique. _That_ was more like it. With a sigh of relief, Mirage leaned back once more, ready to get _on_ with it, now that he didn't have to worry about seeing Gears' attempt at a smile when he rebooted his optics.

Even Gears' thrusts felt more familiar – aggressive and coming in short bursts. Mirage gave a genuine moan as the sensors lining his posterior valve seam were stimulated. He could feel heat start to build up, coming on quickly after being thwarted for so long.

"Yes! Oh! Right there, Gears, I-"

"Now my faceplate _and_ my backstrut are achin'."

The building heat drained away.

"I even saw Ratchet about it yesterday, but it's still squeaking and groaning whenever I try to do anything with it."

Mirage looked down at where their bodies were joined. Gears seemed to be having no difficulty using his backstrut at the moment, but he refrained from pointing that out.

This was _unbearable_. Didn't the mech know anything about moderation? Either he was insufferably miserable or insufferably happy. In neither state could Mirage achieve his own overload.

The door slid open.

Brawn stood in the doorway, observing the scene with mild surprise. Gears didn't appear to care, and carried on. Mirage opened his mouth to apologize – he should have realized that Brawn wouldn't have expected Mirage to bring Gears back to their quarters _immediately_.

"Don't like to waste any time, huh, Mirage?" said Brawn before Mirage could speak. With a shrug, he walked over to one of the small, mini-bot sized desks on the wall, turned his back to the scene on the floor, and began to read a datapad.

"Brawn, I'm _mmf_, really very so-sorry, _oh!_ If you'd prefer we can-"

"Don't bother, he can't hear you," said Gears, shifting on top of Mirage so he could gain more leverage for several longer, slower thrusts.

"What?" Mirage looked at Gears in surprise.

"He always turns off his audios in the room."

For a moment, Mirage was speechless. That…well, he'd always assumed that Gears and Brawn got on well together, as they'd been roommates since before they were stranded on Earth. But that just seemed _cruel_.

"Gears, I'm…sorry."

"Why?" Gears stopped his motions, staring up at Mirage in confusion. "I usually turn mine off too. It's just…well, you're a guest."

"You don't mind?"

"Nope." Gears resumed his previous pace, reaching down to tweak the winglets on Mirage's nose cone.

"Uh, would you mind if…_I_ turned mine off?"

"Well, sure, if you wanna." Gears continued to push into Mirage, now placing both hands on either side of Mirage's hood and squeezing in time to his thrusts. "Mine haven't been the same since Jazz played that Misfits album all the way from Sacramento to Salem. I'm sure they're completely miscalibrated but Ratchet won't-"

Mirage never found out what Ratchet wouldn't do, because he cut power to his audios and the world lapsed into blessed silence. Above him, Gears continued to hold forth on the basic unfairness of the universe, but as long as he kept moving his spike the way he was, Mirage didn't much care.


	10. 3 (Mirage/Red Alert/Inferno; threesome)

Mirage stared at his reflection in the mirror critically, searching for any small imperfection in his finish. It wasn’t that he was _vain_, he simply wanted to make the best impression for his first appointment with Red Alert. His plating was waxed to a liquid shine, the lights in the room casting enticing reflections that slid along the curves of his armor as he turned to and fro.

_All right, maybe just a _little_ vain._

But he _liked_ looking so enticing that mechs couldn’t keep their hands off of him. Pit, he liked looking so enticing that he couldn’t keep his hands off _himself_.

_I’m going to send Red Alert into orbit tonight,_ Mirage promised himself. _I’m going to make him glitch he’ll overload so hard._

But a stray thought made Mirage frown. What if Red Alert found his appearance intimidating? Red Alert himself was always spotless, the perfect image of an officer, but he certainly did not wax and polish the way some of the other mechs on the _Ark_ did.

_If he’s intimidated, then I’ll just have to put him at ease. I’ve dealt with intimidated mechs before._ Mirage smirked at his reflection. _Nothing I can’t handle._

His HUD chimed. It was time to leave.

_Look out, Red Alert, it’s-_

“Woah!” “Hey!”

Both Mirage and Bluestreak jumped back to avoid a collision as the door slid open.

“Hi Mirage! Are you ready to get going? Wheeljack said that he was able to get some energon made from a solar plant, and that it’s much better than the crude oil stuff we’ve had lately…”

Mirage stared at Bluestreak in confusion. For a few horrified moments he tried to bring up his memory files to recall if he had promised Bluestreak some of his time today.

“Go where, Bluestreak?” Mirage asked, trying to stall for time. “I have an appointment right now, I can’t-”

“But we _always_ go for energon after my shift,” said Bluestreak, his doors drooping dejectedly. “I thought you were coming to see me.”

“We do?” Now Mirage was very puzzled. True, he had consumed energon with Bluestreak nearly every day for the past week, but he hadn’t realized it coincided with Bluestreak’s _schedule_. “I’m sorry, Blue, I didn’t realize…I’m really very sorry.” Mirage tried to take a step forward, to get Bluestreak to back up and stop blocking his doorway.

Bluestreak stayed firmly rooted to the spot, and now Mirage was in range for him to reach out and trace the white border of Mirage’s shoulder armor.

“But I wanted to tell you about something I saw on patrol with Ironhide today, Mirage.”

“Please, Bluestreak, I have to go or I’ll be late. You can tell me later – why don’t you send me a message about it? Then we can talk about it when I’m done.” He started to edge around Bluestreak, suddenly overcome with an urge to get his door shut. “I’ll ping you when I’m available.”

“Oh. Okay.” Bluestreak’s entire demeanor radiated crushed hope.

“I’m really sorry – I’ll try to keep your schedule in mind in the future.”

Bluestreak finally took a step back, and Mirage was able to clear his threshold, quickly reaching behind him to palm the control that shut the door.

“Well, maybe…maybe I could wait here for you to get back? I don’t need to refuel right away, I can wait.”

“No!” Mirage cycled his vocoder; he hadn’t intended to sound so alarmed. “_No._ I don’t know if I’ll be ready to go immediately after the appointment, so really, sending me a message is the best way.”

“Oh. Okay,” Bluestreak said again, dropping his hand from Mirage’s shoulder and looking down at the floor. “I’ll send you a message, then. Have, um, have a good appointment.”

“I really am sorry,” said Mirage over his shoulder as he hurried off.

“Yeah.”

Guilt twisted in Mirage’s spark as he looked back at Bluestreak watching him forlornly as he made his way down the hall and around the corner.

As he walked, Mirage tried to recapture his previous state of mind. By the time he reached Red Alert’s door, he had almost succeeded.

_All right, put it behind you, Mirage. You’re here to blow Red Alert’s circuits._

He lifted his hand, and pressed the button on the key pad to request entrance. A chime sounded deep within, followed by the sound of heavy pede steps approaching the door.

When the door slid aside, Inferno was there to greet him.

“Come in, Mirage,” he said, stepping aside and ushering Mirage across the threshold. “We were just expecting you.” Inferno placed his hand on Mirage’s back, guiding him across the room.

Red Alert, who had been seated on a divan, jumped to his feet, holding himself so stiffly that Mirage was surprised his hydraulic seals didn’t blow out.

_This might be harder than I thought._ Mirage glanced quickly around the room. It was larger than Inferno’s quarters, which was fitting for an officer, but it lacked a completely separated room for the berth. Three cubes of energon were sitting on the top of a shelving unit, no doubt to refresh and fortify them during the coming activities.

“Hello, Mirage,” said Red Alert. There was a pause. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s good to see you. Have you been well?” Mirage mentally kicked himself for coming up with such a banal conversational gambit. _Slag, this is awkward,_ he thought. _But I am _not_ going to go down that directory tree._

“Fine, fine, and you?” Red Alert responded. “Um, please, have a seat. And please, you don’t have to call me ‘sir’ when we’re off duty…like this.” He scooted over to the end of the divan.

“Very well, thank you Red Alert.” Mirage joined Red Alert on the divan. He was careful to sit a comfortable distance away. Inferno perched on the arm of the divan, on the other side of Red Alert. _Come on, Mirage, stop being spooky – Red Alert is feeding off that!_ he chided himself. _You’ve handled nervous mechs before, and all of them were thoroughly relaxed by the time you were through…_

“So.” Red Alert cycled his vents as if to steady himself. “Inferno has briefed you about…about what I would like?”

Mirage noted how tensely Red Alert was holding himself, his chin tipped up with an air of defiance, as if he was expecting Mirage to _refuse_.

“Yes,” Mirage answered, allowing a promising smile to grace his lips. He dimmed his optics slightly.

“And…you have no objections?”

“Why would I object? Other mechs request this sort of thing all the time.” Mirage’s smile widened, and he leaned forward, placing his hands over Red Alert’s. “Believe me, Red Alert, I’ve seen it all, and heard it all. Please, don’t feel you can’t tell me if you’d like to try something, or you would like me to stop doing something. After all,” Mirage laughed, and squeezed Red Alert’s hand, “this is supposed to be _relaxing_.”

Red Alert laughed too; a nervous, short laugh, but Mirage could feel some of the tension leaving his frame. _Success._

Inferno leaned down close him, and said, “See, Red? I told you.”

“Yes, so you did.” Red Alert allowed Inferno to pull him to his pedes and guide him towards the berth. Mirage followed, a plan forming in his processor.

Red Alert had partitioned off a small corner to give the impression of a separate room for his berth with two half-height shelving units. Against the far wall was a desk with a few neat stacks of data pads, and the berth was opposite the desk, against the back of one shelving unit instead of a wall. Red Alert took a seat at the edge of the berth, and looked up expectantly at Mirage.

“I suppose we should proceed…?” said Red Alert, glancing nervously at Inferno.

Mirage paused next to the entrance to the little alcove. It was obvious that Red Alert was still very uncomfortable and apprehensive about this. He’d have to do something about that. A quick cycle through the infrared frequencies with his optics told him that despite his nervousness, Red Alert _was_ already somewhat aroused; he approached the berth.

He could see the apprehension in Red Alert’s optics as Mirage lowered himself to sit on the berth. Mirage lifted one hand, trailing it across Red Alert’s spoiler before lifting it to gently rub the sensor node at the base of Red Alert’s neck.

“Um…”

“Yes?” purred Mirage as he leaned closer to Red Alert, pressing up against his side.

“I – I don’t-”

Placing a hand carefully onto Red Alert’s thigh plating, Mirage purred, “Don’t you want to touch me?” into Red Alert’s audio. “Please?”

He smiled as Red Alert’s hands came to rest tentatively around his waist. He spread his legs, giving a soft, almost sub-sonic moan as Red Alert’s hands slowly moved up his chassis. Mirage brought a hand up to caress Red Alert’s face as he moaned again, leaning his helm back, revealing his sensitive and vulnerable neck cables.

“Please touch me, Red Alert, _please_.” Mirage normally wasn’t one to beg, but he was willing to make an exception in this case if it would just get Red Alert to _relax_ and enjoy himself.

Inferno was watching with a lazy grin on his faceplate, clearly enjoying the show. One hand slowly stroked his grille in response to Mirage’s wanton display.

Slowly, and so lightly that it almost _tickled_, Red Alert began to touch Mirage. First his hands went to Mirage’s nosecone -_what _is_ it about that thing? They always go for that first,_\- then over his winglets. One hand moved up his chassis, pausing over his sensor grid before moving laterally to fondle Mirage’s shoulder wheel.

“Am I…doing this right?” asked Red Alert.

“Oh, yes, yes, Red Alert, _yes_,” Mirage said in response. He was playing it up a bit, he knew, but it _did_ feel good. His sensor net flared, the heat licking through his circuits. “Just touch me the way _you_ would want to be touched…_ohh-_!” Mirage choked on his words as Red Alert suddenly stuck his hand between Mirage’s thighs and _squeezed_. His surprise must have shown on his face because the hand was immediately withdrawn. “No, that’s fine, Red Alert. That feels _so_ good.” Mirage reached out and took hold of Red Alert’s hand, and guided it to the panel that protected his interface components.

With a quick glance at Inferno, Red Alert tentatively reached out began to trace the seams and lines of Mirage’s pelvic armor. Mirage moaned and spread his legs, dimming his optics.

After a few moments Mirage reached up, slipping a hand behind Red Alert’s neck, intending to lean back onto the berth and pull Red Alert along with him, already working out how best to arrange himself so that Red Alert would be comfortable, and Inferno would get the best view…

Red Alert’s aft remained firmly on the berth as if it had been welded there. Mirage prevented a frustrated huff from escaping his vents, but it wasn’t easy.

_I guess he’s still not going to relax…but that’s fine, I can handle it._

He kept the sultry smile on his faceplates as he leaned forward once more.

Mirage slid behind Red Alert, his fingers carefully slipping into the couplings on his shoulders, stroking the hydraulics and springs that connected to his shoulder wheels. He was rewarded with a sharp gasp from Red Alert, and he felt the components beneath his fingertips hum to life as current surged through hidden circuits.

“Oh, Red Alert,” Mirage whispered into Red Alert’s audio. “_Oooh._”

He could see Red Alert’s hands clench the edge of the berth with renewed vigor. Primus, it was going to be impossible to get him to relax! As he ran his lips along one of Red Alert’s neck cables, Mirage looked up, meeting Inferno’s optics with a pleading look, hoping that maybe _he_ might have an idea that would get Red’s struts to loosen up.

Inferno smirked, and with an exaggerated sigh and creaking of joints, heaved himself up from where he had been leaning against the desk.

“You’re makin’ Mirage’s job harder than it has to be, Red,” he said with a gentle smile.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Mirage, I-” Red Alert was interrupted by Inferno kneeling between his legs and placing his hands on Red Alert’s thighs. “What are you-”

“One of us has to get you loosened up, Red.” Inferno smiled and nodded at him in encouragement.

Mirage was somewhat surprised, but also grateful that Inferno had decided to take the initiative. He was such a good friend to Red Alert, willing to go to any lengths to ensure that Red Alert would enjoy his appointment!

“I…I, um…” Red Alert glanced over his shoulder wheel at Mirage nervously.

“It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, Red,” Inferno teased. Mirage bent back down to nip at Red Alert’s neck, and made a soft noise of encouragement. Cycling his vents, Red Alert nodded back at Inferno and opened his panel. Inferno smiled at him, and bent down to press his mouth against the delicate components at the apex of Red Alert’s thighs. Mirage couldn’t see what he was doing, but soon a wave of tension swept up Red Alert’s back strut, and then receded, leaving him more relaxed than before.

_That’s more like it._ Mirage redoubled his efforts, running one hand up Red Alert’s back plating to his helm, hoping that Red Alert’s sensor horns were as sensitive as Jazz’s… _Ah. So they are,_ Mirage thought as Red Alert cried out an arched back against Mirage. Down below, Inferno made a muffle noise of protest as Red Alert’s hips were pushed against his faceplates.

“S-sorry!” Red Alert said in a strangled tone.

“Don’t be sorry,” Mirage purred into his audio. “Just let it happen. We’ve got lots of time… he snaked his other hand around to Red Alert’s front, and explored the seams on the plating of his lower abdomen. Red Alert whimpered, and one leg spasmed. Inferno chuckled, and the vibrations must have carried to Red Alert because he moaned.

Mirage peeked over Red Alert’s shoulder, and watched Inferno work for a few moments, and then, with a quick sure movement, he slid his hand down as Inferno pulled back, and grasped the base of Red Alert’s spike.

“In-Inferno!” Red Alert gasped. Without missing a beat, Inferno released Red Alert’s thigh and moved his hand to cover Red Alert’s.

Red Alert’s spike was hot in his hand, and Mirage could feel his plating warming up quickly. He gave an experimental squeeze to the base, but was startled when Red Alert cried out in what sounded like pain. _But I couldn’t have _hurt_ him, I barely-_

“Go easy on him, Mirage.” Inferno had taken his mouth from Red Alert’s spike and was staring up at him. “He’s got more sensors than the rest of the _Ark_ put together.” Mirage nodded and murmured an apology to Red Alert, then tried a much lighter touch, trailing along the underside of Red Alert’s spike. He was rewarded with a low moan.

_So…extra sensors _everywhere_, eh? Everyone says you’re cold, Red, but I bet you go off like a firecracker when you’re warmed up just right._

The sounds that Red Alert was making and the sight of Inferno bending back down to Red Alert’s spike caused a fresh flare of arousal to surge through Mirage’s circuits. His interface components were heating up, his valve becoming coated with lubricant. The armor panel that protected them began to feel too tight and confining as his spike extension protocols began to execute.

_No, not that,_ thought Mirage with a pang as he killed the errant line of code. _Not that it wouldn’t be welcome._ He buried the momentary sense of injustice – everyone was always so _fixated_ on his valve, that they tended to forget and neglect his _other_ set of hardware.

He resumed his task with more enthusiasm, grinding and pushing his pelvic unit against Red Alert’s back, running his lips along his spoiler and reaching around again to place his hand on Red Alert’s spike. He and Inferno fell into a rhythm – as Inferno pulled back, Mirage would close his hand gently around Red Alert; then relax and withdraw to the very base of the spike as Inferno took Red Alert in again.

“I-Inferno…Inferno, I’m-!”

Inferno let out a low growl and Mirage suddenly found his hand firmly pushed away. Just when he lifted his head to ask what was wrong, Red Alert’s optics flickered and he stiffened, his legs lifting as he curled away from Mirage and towards Inferno. The room was lit by bright blue sparks emitted from Red Alert’s helm sensors, spitting and fizzing, filling the air with ozone. He grabbed Inferno’s helm desperately, and jerked twice before collapsing back against Mirage, sending them both sprawling backwards. Mirage’s vents stalled as his back plating hit the berth with a _clang_.

_‘Sensitive’ is right,_ thought Mirage. _That almost singed my plating. But at least I got him to relax._ Mirage indulged in a moment of pride at his skills in the berth.

Inferno was still for the moment, his head resting against one of Red Alert’s thighs and his hand languidly stroking the other, optics dim. However, when Red Alert stirred and moaned, he immediately raised his helm and stood, leaning over where Red Alert sprawled atop Mirage.

_About time you got him off of me._ But instead of helping Mirage escape from under Red Alert, Inferno reached between their legs, fondling and groping Mirage’s still-closed panel. _Finally,_ Mirage thought as he retracted it. _I was feeling a bit neglected – oh!_ He gasped as Inferno’s fingers skillfully found his sensors, expertly stimulating them so that his damped arousal roared back to life. Mirage was just about to open his mouth to suggest that they wait for Red Alert to reboot so he could enjoy the show when Red Alert groaned again and onlined his optics.

“Inferno…” Red Alert moaned, reaching out. “Inferno, I need you, please…”

_What now? I just want a decent frag, is that so much to ask?_

“I’m here, Red.” The berth creaked as Inferno climbed up, pushing Red Alert’s legs apart and lifting his hips. Red Alert responded by wrapping his legs around Inferno’s waist, pulling him close. The movement caused Red Alert’s spoiler to dig into Mirage’s chest and he grunted in discomfort.

“I want you, Inferno,” whispered Red Alert. “I _need_ you…”

_Just what is going on here?_ Mirage grabbed Red Alert’s shoulder wheels, intending to push him off, but at that moment Inferno surged forward and into Mirage’s valve, burying himself to the hilt. Mirage moaned as he was finally filled. _Slag, that feels good! Finally someone remembered _I’m_ here too._ He again tried to say something, intending to encourage Inferno, but Red Alert spoke first.

“You feel so good inside me, Inferno! Your spike feels so good!” Red Alert was clinging to Inferno like a space barnacle, his face buried in Inferno’s plating, and for a moment Mirage wondered if his audios were glitching.

_Excuse me?_ Had Red Alert’s processor been scrambled by his overload?

“You’re so good, you feel so good around me, Red…” Inferno said into Red Alert’s audio, his voice husky with lust. He changed the angle of his thrusts, and Mirage moaned as new sensors were stimulated. A split second later, a louder moan that echoed his came from Red Alert.

_You don’t have to play it up so much!_ Mirage internally rolled his optics as Inferno continued expound upon the virtues of “Red Alert’s” valve. It wasn’t as if Red Alert was even _close_ to a second overload.

“Yes, Inferno, yes! Give it to me!”

“You’re so hot, so tight, Red, I feel like I’m going to catch fire just from being in you…”

“I _need_ you!”

“I wanna pound you right into the berth, Red!”

Mirage barely held back a groan. It seemed that Bluestreak wasn’t the only one spending too much time with Smokescreen’s erotic materials. He looked at Inferno incredulously, but Inferno wasn’t even looking at him.

_All right, that’s _ it. _I didn’t come here to be _ ignored. He opened his mouth, intending to tell the pair to get the frag off of him.

“I want you inside me so much, Inferno.” Red Alert's voice sounded small and broken, so full of quiet yearning it made Mirage shut his mouth with a snap. “I love you, I love you, Inferno…”

_Oh._

Inferno paused for a moment. “I love you too, Red.” He pressed their helms together, look deep into Red Alert’s optics, seemingly oblivious to anything else. “You’re everything to me.” His thrusts took on a more sedate and conscientious quality.

“Inferno…”

“I love you with all my spark…”

“_Oh_, Inferno.”

Mirage tried to hide behind Red Alert’s shoulders. He burned with embarrassment at being a witness to such intimacy.

“I want to be inside of you, I want to make you feel so good…”

“Inferno…” Red Alert’s head fell back next to Mirage’s, but his optics were offline. Inferno was licking and nipping his neck cables. “I want you to fill me…”

“I’ll never want anyone else as long as my spark lives…” Inferno murmured against Red Alert’s neck plating as he pushed into Mirage’s valve.

Mirage bit his lip, stifling both a groan of pleasure and trying to quell a surge of jealousy in his spark.

_No one’s ever said anything to _me_ like that,_ he thought wistfully.

Red Alert said something that might have been “…only yours.”

Mirage glanced up again at Red Alert and Inferno, but quickly looked away. They were lost in each other, and even overhearing their murmured declarations of love felt like an intrusion. Mirage tried to ignore the words that reached his audios, and instead concentrate on the sensation of Inferno gliding in and out of his valve.

That, at least, was physically satisfying. Mirage shut off his optics, and concentrated on the sensor feeds coming from his valve. When the words being spoken above him drifted into his consciousness, he couldn’t resist imagining that they were meant for him, for just a moment…

_A faceless lover, shrouded with shadows moved above Mirage, his weight pinning him to the berth, making him feel wanted and protected. “I love you,” he whispered to Mirage, moving slowly and tenderly in Mirage’s valve. Heat pooled in Mirage’s pelvic unit, building quickly in response to the words. “You’re so beautiful, you’re mine, only mine, only-”_

Mirage overloaded, his vision going staticky as energy surged through his circuits. He almost cried out, but turned off his vocoder, still acutely aware of Red Alert and Inferno. As the aftershocks rippled through him, he tried to hold the image of his fictitious lover in his optical buffers, but it slipped away. For a moment, his features had almost seemed familiar...

“Oh! Red Alert!” Inferno’s shout jolted Mirage back to the present. Inferno’s thrusts were becoming rougher, signaling his impending climax. “I love you, Red, I love you…” Mirage kept his vocoder mute, as Inferno’s spike stimulated his sensors, still on a hair trigger from Mirage’s recent overload.

“_Inferno._”

“I’m close, Red, I’m close-”

“I want to feel you overload inside me!”

_Primus, not this again._

“Red, Red, Red-” Inferno chanted Red Alert’s name in time with his thrusts, his voice becoming more and more static-filled with each one. Inferno’s motions became so erratic that for a moment Mirage thought they were going to fall off of him. But then Inferno’s engine revved, the deep vibration shaking the berth, and he groaned, crushing Red Alert to him as he shuddered his release, spilling his transfluid into Mirage’s valve. Soon there came the popping sound of circuit breakers tripping, and Inferno’s optics went dark as he collapsed on top of them, his head lolling forward to rest on Red Alert’s chest.

For a few moments, all was quiet and still, but then Red Alert raised his arms and embraced Inferno’s offline body, lifting his head to place a reverent kiss on the crown of Inferno’s helm.

Red Alert heaved a sigh, and let his helm fall back, right onto Mirage’s nasal plating.

“Ow!”

“Oh! I’m sorry Mirage. I forgot…um, that is…”

Mirage cycled his vocoder, reaching up to rub his face where Red Alert’s helm had connected. _I hope that doesn’t dent,_ he thought. “Quite all right, Red Alert,” he mumbled, his voice strained.

“What’s…”

“You two are rather…heavy.” Mirage tried to shift, but the combined weight of Inferno and Red Alert kept him pressed into the berth.

Red Alert immediately withdrew his arms from around Inferno, and tried to push him up and off of them. “Inferno, you need to get up!”

Mirage groaned as Inferno’s still-extended spike was jostled in his valve. “Stop! Red, stop! He’s still…I’m still…connected…” he said through gritted denta.

“Sorry! I’m sorry, Mirage!”

There was a long silence while they listened to the pings of cooling metal. Mirage knew he should say something to alleviate it, but he wasn’t feeling quite charitable enough.

Finally Red Alert cycled his vocoder and spoke. “I really appreciate you doing this for us, Mirage. I-” his voice became quieter, almost a whisper. “I didn’t think you would actually be willing. It was very kind of you.”

_Wait, was this the plan all along?_ Pieces of the puzzle started fitting themselves together in Mirage’s processor.

“I _might_ have been willing, if I’d known what you intended.” Mirage paused, allowing that bit of information to sink in. “A little warning would have been nice.”

Red Alert went very still and quiet.

“Inferno didn’t tell you?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“What…what _did_ he tell you?”

Mirage couldn’t hold back a smirk. The tone of Red Alert’s voice spoke volumes about just how much trouble Inferno was going to be in when he rebooted. “He only mentioned a joint appointment.”

“Oh…” Red Alert sighed. “Oh Mirage I am _so_ sorry!” He suddenly gave Inferno’s helm a slap, and shook him. “Inferno, you slaghead! Get up!”

Mirage made a grunt of discomfort and grabbed Red Alert’s arms to keep him from jostling Inferno further.

“I’m sorry! Sorry!”

Mirage made a noncommittal noise in his vocoder as Red Alert stilled. For a few kliks they neither moved nor spoke.

_Primus, I said there would be no awkward silences and I meant it!_ He cycled his vocoder, and decided that, really, what with everything that had happened he was entitled to a bit of nosiness. “So…You and Inferno…?”

Immediately Red Alert’s plating warmed against him, whether in embarrassment or desire Mirage couldn’t tell.

“Yes.” One of Red Alert’s hands lifted, and he gave Inferno’s cheek a tender stroke where it rested against his chest.

“For how long?” Mirage felt slightly embarrassed by the fact that he had been completely ignorant that their friendship had taken a…serious turn. In hindsight, he could pick out all of the clues that were present in Red Alert and Inferno’s interactions, and Mirage prided himself on knowing the current romantic entanglements of all the members of the crew.

“I’m not sure how you’d define it, officially,” murmured Red Alert. “But since we left Cybertron, certainly.”

“I…I never knew.”

Red Alert heaved a sigh through his vents. “We’ve tried to be discreet. My doing, mostly.” The hand that had been caressing Inferno’s face moved down to find and clasp one of Inferno’s limp hands. “An enlisted mech and an officer…well, you know how everyone talks.”

“Only too well.”

“Prowl knows.” Red Alert gave a little chuckle. “Inferno actually reports to him now, to avoid conflicts of interest. Not that he's ever listened to me anyway when he's determined to do something foolish.”

“Mmm. I see.” Mirage lifted one of his arms to rub absently at Red Alert’s shoulder wheel.

“What’s it like?” Red Alert blurted suddenly.

“What’s what like?” Mirage tried to shift to relieve some pressure on a crimped fuel line, but his efforts proved futile.

“Having…having a valve.” Red Alert’s voice was quiet, as if he was embarrassed to be asking the question.

“Having a valve…is wonderful,” Mirage sighed. “I had it installed so long ago that I’ve almost forgotten what it was like _not_ to have one. Of course, this is my third, but after all of the major structural modifications were made for the first one, it’s just a matter of swapping out the hardware whenever I want an upgrade.”

“What made you decide to…you know… have the modifications done? Was there someone... never mind, I shouldn’t pry.”

Mirage almost laughed. “Oh no, nothing like that. It was something that practically _everyone_ in the Towers had done. I mean, why limit your options?” Mirage paused, running through his memory files of his partners from before the war. “In fact I don’t think anyone I interfaced with had just _one_ set of equipment.”

“Is it really that…nice?” Red Alert fidgeted a bit before Mirage stopped him with a gentle hand to his arm. “But I suppose it’s _very_ resource intensive…and most of the parts are probably nonexistent by now.”

“It’s _very_ nice. Even the most cut-rate, basic valve model has more sensor terminals and nodes than a spike. And, well. When you care about the person you’re with…feeling them move inside of you…” Mirage trailed off as he was suddenly hit with a wave of loneliness. Was Hound _ever_ going to get his aft back to the _Ark_? “…Well. It’s very intimate, and special.” He heaved a gust of air through his vents, trying to fight down the feeling of wistfulness that had overcome him.

Above him, Red Alert sighed deeply as well.

“Huh? Wuzzat?” Inferno’s optics brightened and he jerked a little as his systems came fully online.

“Inferno, get up, you’re crushing us,” said Red Alert.

“Carefully!” Mirage added.

With a hiss of hydraulics a deep groan of metal, Inferno levered himself up and off of Mirage and Red Alert. Red Alert quickly rolled off of Mirage and Mirage lost no time in shutting his panel.

“Thank you so much, for everything, Mirage,” said Red Alert as he helped Mirage up, fussing a bit at a bright red paint transfer. “I do apolo-”

“No need, no need,” Mirage murmured, casting a glance over to the chair where Inferno had collapsed, still reeling from his overload.

“Here.” Red Alert offered him one of the energon cubes. “Would you like to stay, or…?”

“I think it would be best if I consumed this in my quarters. Thank you. And Red Alert, please don’t hesitate to make another appointment.” Mirage smiled encouragingly. It hadn’t really been so bad, just unexpected.

Red Alert nodded as he saw Mirage to the doorway. “Thank you again, Mirage.” As the door slid shut behind him, Mirage heard Red Alert saying, “Inferno…we need to talk.”


End file.
